Fatum
by Ferret2
Summary: [COMPLETE] Draco's caught in the middle of an insane plot to get Voldemort back, eventually sending him down a trip to memory lane - a place he'd avoided for a long time. But what's Ginny got to do with it?
1. Tea and Dreams

**Chapter One: Tea and Dreams**   
  
  
_Darkness.   
  
That was all he could see. Not a hint of light anywhere. He could actually feel the dark. It was cold to his skin, and made the hair on his neck stand. Yet oddly enough, it was comforting. The emptiness, the void — it comforted him.   
  
He couldn't see his hands, but he knew they were there. He felt his way around the shadows. Nothing. He was alone.   
  
No matter, Draco thought to himself. He was used to being alone.   
  
Then suddenly light peaked through the black. Like a knife through butter, the light cut through and blinded at Draco. Slowly, the light took shape — two oval slits before him. Eyes.   
  
And fire. He could see fire inside the light.   
  
No — the light was fire.   
  
Red flames that looked like they were blinking when they flickered. The heat of the flames slowly enveloped him, and he felt his contentment leave. It was getting hotter with each breath he took, and he felt the need to cry out. But no sound left him.   
  
Then suddenly he was falling. Falling through the darkness, with only the flames to catch him. He saw the two eyes move into thinner slits and shake slightly. It was_ laughing _at him_.   
  
Draco awoke sweaty and panting to the sound of his alarm. The faint beeping noise grew rapidly, but he made no move to stop it. He was sprawled all over his bed, his legs and arms tangled in his silk sheets. He blinked at his ceiling tiles, wondering vaguely where he was. The beeping had progressed to the point that it sounded like a siren now, and only then had Draco glanced at his clock. The illuminated words that hovered above it read, "YOU'RE LATE!" He blinked at it, and felt the heavy anvil of realization squash him.   
  
In a quick and fluid motion, he detached himself from his sheets and sprang into his closet to retrieve his garbs. Resolving that he'd think on his dream later, he left his flat as quickly as he had awoken.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
The sun's rays reflected off of the pavements, adding to the already unbearable heat. Refusing to part with his usual black, Draco charmed his garments with a self-cooling spell to sustain him during his walk through Hogsmeade. Though he had been walking for 20 minutes in the heatwave, he didn't mind. He was due for tea with his old Potions Professor, and normally he'd've Apparated — especially with such harsh weather conditions. But walking always cleared his mind. It helped get his mind off of things — which was exactly the reason he was off to meet the Potions Master. Well — partly. He wasn't ashamed to admit that he enjoyed his afternoon teas with the Professor. They have been most relaxing to Draco, and he was extremely greatful for them as of late.   
  
He felt a rare breeze blow against him, making rogue strands of hair sway in front of his face. He made no move to push them behind his ear like he usually did. He did, however, make a mental note to get it trimmed later that day. It had grown a couple of inches since the summer began, and the ends of his hair was already grazing his shirt collar. Any longer and he'd look just like his father.   
  
Draco shook the horrible thought away as he turned a corner. He was not his father, and he never will be.   
  
"Come again, have you?" simpered an old witch as he passed her. Draco turned and gave the woman a faint nod as she tended to her shrubberies. "Third time this week," the witch said, winking at Draco.   
  
"Have you been keeping track of my visits, Madam Rosa?" Draco asked, flashing the old witch an alluring smile.   
  
Madam Rosa's cheeks turned a shade of red, matching those of her orchids. "Oh, Draco, your ways could slay an old lady like me," she giggled, and hastily turned her blushing face away.   
  
"Ah, then we mustn't let your husband know," Draco grinned, and grasped the old woman's hand to brush his pale lips against them. Giving the tittering witch a final wink, he turned and walked away. He only traveled another block before finally reaching his destination.   
  
The thought of Professor Snape living in a flat was odd to Draco. Snape never seemed to be one who'd enjoy sharing a building with strangers. Then again, who was Draco to assume? Snape, like himself, liked to shroud himself in mystery, often using it to his advantage.   
  
"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," came Snape's usual greeting. "Yes — come in, come in." He took a step aside to allow Draco to enter the flat. Upon entering, Draco felt the chill of one too many cooling spells. He diminished his own cooling spells from his cloak and followed Snape to his kitchen.   
  
It was a small but cozy flat, and though its kitchen was barely big enough for a sink and stove, Snape had magicked it to hold a rectangular dining table — among other things. Draco had noticed that his collection of potion ingredients had grown since his last visit, taking over a full shelf and a half. He made a mental note to avoid ever looking at the hog's testicles again.   
  
"You're late," said Snape, his voice firm.   
  
Draco shifted slightly. Snape always made him feel about five years younger.   
  
"Yes, well, I got a bit tied up." His eyes burned into an ink spot on Snape's table as Snape surveyed him.   
  
"Madam Rosa?" asked Snape simply.   
  
Draco stared at Snape. Slowly his cheeks turned a slight pink, and he smiled sheepishly. He nodded.   
  
"Ah — yes," said Snape and walked over to the stove. "I imagine she's quite liked your visits here. Caught her timing you one time."   
  
Draco's cheeks burned over as the Professor sent him a rare grin.   
  
"Plain?" he asked as he reached for the tea kettle that was already beginning to steam and whistle.   
  
"Yes," answered Draco, and quietly took a seat in the neatly polished table. He accepted the tea cup offered to him as Snape took the seat opposite him. He blew into the simmering tea while Snape fumbled with his milk and sugar.   
  
"I'll never understand how you can just drink tea plain," said Snape, watching Draco through hooded black eyes.   
  
"And _I'll_ never understand Arithmancy," responded Draco, and took sip of his tea.   
  
"Was that why you never took it?" questioned Snape, stirring his own tea.   
  
Draco nodded with a shrug, and set his cup down. Snape followed suit and regarded Draco for a moment. He had grown an incredible amount over the past year, and completely towered over the Professor by at least five inches. Having had Quidditch for six years had given him a good build, though his lengthening hair made him appear quite older.   
  
"You've just turned 18, if I'm not mistaken?"   
  
Draco nodded under Snape's piercing gaze. "Just last Thursday," he said and ran a hand through his silky hair — a habit Draco usually did absentmindedly.   
  
Snape didn't move, though his eyes — if possible — hardened. "July 31st," he said, in a tone that suggested it wasn't a question.   
  
Draco looked at the Potions Master with curiosity, "Sir?"   
  
Snape blinked at Draco. Then, after a quick moment of looking lost, shook his head. "So how's adult life been for you?" he said casually, and tore his eyes away to glance at his tea.   
  
"Er — okay," answered Draco, eyeing the older man suspiciously. "I'm not complaining."   
  
"Have you decided what to do?"   
  
Draco opened his mouth to answer, but found that he hand none. Slowly, he shook his head.   
  
"Might I suggest an internship at Hogwarts?" Snape fiddled with the spoon inside his tea cup, and made tiny clinking noises.   
  
"Hogwarts?" said Draco, raising a silver brow. "I hadn't even thought about going back there." He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Didn't really have the time of my life in that school."   
  
"Only a suggestion. I'm looking for a pupil to take under my wing, if ever I decide to leave the school," said Snape. "McGonagall has made it quite clear that she's taken last year's Head Girl as her apprentice."   
  
Draco nearly smiled. Their on-going rivalry would be cute if they weren't so old.   
  
"Granger, is it?" said Draco, eyes tracing the oak patterns on Snape's table.   
  
"Yes, blasted Granger," muttered Snape, and took an angry swig of his tea. "You can imagine the bragging Minerva'd subject me to this school year." He turned to Draco with a mad glint in his eyes. "Which is why I thought it'd be convenient to match her Head Girl with my Head Boy. You'd show that Granger a thing or two for sure."   
  
"You flatter me, Professor," smirked Draco. Even though the other man was technically not his Professor anymore, he had grown accustomed to calling him that. "But I'm afraid I've got no desire to return to Hogwarts anytime soon." He caught a quick look of disappointment in the old man's eyes, before it was hooded over again.   
  
"So what are you planning on?" persisted Snape, completely forgetting about his tea.   
  
At this, Draco shrugged. He found himself feeling incredibly weak and unprepared. His troubled thoughts must've been visable on his face, for Snape quickly consoled him.   
  
"You're young," he said, finally turning his attention back to his chilled tea. "You've got time."   
  
Draco gave a small nod and downed his tea quickly. This behavior must've been odd for Draco, for it had prompted Snape to raise a brow.   
  
"Something bothering you, Mr. Malfoy?"   
  
Draco stared. He hadn't given his dream much thought since he had left his flat. Was it really something to tell Snape about? Surely it was just one too many butterbeers from the night before. Nothing to worry about, right? Still, past experiences have tought him never to ignore a sign. But then again, who's to say that the dream _was_ a sign?   
  
Draco frowned. His head hurt. Alot.   
  
He caught the suspicious eyes of Snape and gave an inward sigh. "No, Professor."   
  
The conversation had lightened over the last few droplets of tea, and Draco left with an extreme sense of foreboding. He would soon see Snape again in Hogwarts, as he had promised to play dummy to some of the man's recent potion discoveries.   
  
His subconscience gave an irritable kick as he wriggled out of Madam Rosa's giggle-filled clutches. Should he have told Snape about his dream? It certainly gave Draco an uneasy feeling whenever he thought about it. But he only had it once — it couldn't've meant anything. He came to the conclusion that he was just being paranoid when he finally arrived home.   
  
  
_ Chapter Two; Ginny's seventh year in Hogwarts — complete with the Weasley temper, your giggly girl talk, and more of the delicious Draco! Keep your eyes peaked for foreshadows and hints. _   
  
  
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	2. Superficiality

**Chapter Two: Superficiality**   
  
  
It was a rare thing to not have much commotion on a September 1st in the Weasley home. Only harboring one Weasley who would be waking early to catch the Hogwarts Express, the Burrow was practically tranquil.   
  
Kind of.   
  
"Mum! I can't find my tie!" screeched 17 year old Ginny Weasley from inside her room. Her room was a barren wasteland just the other night, having nearly packed everything. But now she had ripped her trunk apart, searching everywhere for her missing House tie.   
  
"Heavens!" gasped Mrs. Weasley, upon entering her only daughter's room. "I thought you'd already packed!"   
  
"I did!" whined Ginny. "But I couldn't fine my tie!"   
  
Mrs. Wealsey glared at her daughter, who was supposed to be a mature adult now. "_Accio_!" she said, and flying out from under Ginny's bed was her tie. She gave her wand another flick and instantly, the trunk was repacked. "Hurry up now, or we'll be late." With a final "Honestly!" she left.   
  
Ginny huffed angrilly and set to work on fixing her tie. She glared at her reflection, cursing inwardly for her stupidity.   
  
"Aren't you going to do something about your hair?" piped her mirror, making Ginny's temper flare even more.   
  
"Argh!" growled Ginny, and pushed the mirror so it'd face down. "Everybody's a critic!" She folded her arms across her chest which, along with her pout, made her look about 10 years younger. She felt very tired with herself and wished desperately that she was out of school. Then she could make a name for herself, other than the "Girl Who Got Possessed By Voldemort". The Chamber was opened nearly six years ago and people still call her that. Not even when Voldemort's fall got them to stop.   
  
She found herself longing to be somebody else. Somebody people looked up to. Not star Gryffindor Chaser, Ron Weasley's, little sister. Not the girl who crushed on Harry Potter for four years. Not the "Chamber Girl". She glared back at her reflection after setting the mirror upright. This year was going to be different, she told her self. This year people would know who she was.   
  
With a sudden look of determination plastered on her face, she set off towards her mother's beckoning calls.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"Hey, aren't you Ron Weasley's kid sister?" piped a third year who crossed her path as she set off for Potions.   
  
Ginny felt her eyes narrow irritably. So much for resolutions, she thought bitterly, and headed for the dungeons in a quicker pace.   
  
"Hey Ginny — hold on!" cried her friend who came running up to her.   
  
Ginny obediently stopped in her tracks and waited. "Sorry Minora," she said, once the girl had caught up to her.   
  
"You're freakishly fast, do you know that?" laughed Minora, reducing her sparkling blue eyes to slits.   
  
Ginny smiled sheepishly as they continued down the moldy corridors. "Sorry — I just got so mad."   
  
"Again?" said Minora, grinning wider as Ginny glared at her.   
  
"I don't get mad often — well, okay, I do. But that's not the point!" squeaked Ginny, and continued to pout all the way to the Potions room.   
  
"What was it this time?" asked Minora, setting her book bag down on their usual table in the back.   
  
Ginny felt her cheeks heat up and mumbled, "sister" under her breath.   
  
Minora sighed. "Honestly, Gin, you can't keep letting that get to you."   
  
"Easy for you to say," pouted Ginny. "People know who _you_ are." She gave Minora a knowing look, which made her ivory cheeks turn pink. "You're Minora Modesty, the prettiest girl in school."   
  
Minora frowned at Ginny, making her wince slightly. She knew how much Minora hated it when she pitied herself, but sometimes it just couldn't be avoided.   
  
"Stop beating yourself over the head about it," snapped Minora. Her expression lightened as Snape began doing role. "You're a great and beautiful person — it just takes a while before it's noticed."   
  
"Any chance of that happening soon?" said Ginny gloomily, and was saved from a lecture from Minora as Snape began his lesson.   
  
"Lacewings, unicorn hair, and hawk feathers," said Snape, casting a cold glare around the class, causing a ripple of shivers over them. "What potion are these ingredients found in?"   
  
"Dreamless sleep," said a velvety voice from the doorway.   
  
A number of heads snapped over to peak at the owner of the voice, Ginny among them. Draco Malfoy was leaning with his arms crossed on the door. His hair looked freshly cut for the edges were rough, and was completely covered in black, illuminating his pale complexion and silvery hair. Perhaps this was why most of the girls in the room were practically drooling.   
  
"Mr. Malfoy," said Snape, and Ginny could've sworn he had nearly smiled. "Perhaps you've forgotten that you had already graduated from this school?"   
  
Draco smirked, causing the girls to let out hushed squeals of delight. "And perhaps _you've_ forgotten our little appointment?" he quipped.   
  
This time Snape actually _did_ smile — or the tips of his mouth twitched, anyway. "Ah, yes. That. Well, as you can see I'm just in the middle of a class — I'm afraid you'll have to wait." — or the tips of his mouth twitched, anyway. "I don't mind," said Draco and took a seat next to a rather giggly Hufflepuff.   
  
"Perhaps _outside_," said Snape huffily. "You're causing a bit of a fit with some of my students."   
  
Getting the point, Draco stood and made his way for the door. He turned just as he opened it, and gave an enticing wink to the Hufflepuff, before finally leaving the room. It took a while for Snape to get some order in the class while the girls had erupted into giggle fits and the boys made gagging noises.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"So _tha_t's Draco Malfoy," said Minora thoughtfully as she and Ginny began piling their books in their bags after Snape's lesson. "From all the articles, I'd always pictured him shorter. Less hot."   
  
Ginny sputtered in shock. "Hot?" she echoed, looking at Minora like she had just cursed her own mom.   
  
"Yeah," Minora nodded. "Don't you think so?"   
  
Ginny shook her head fervently. She and Minora piled out of the classroom, only to bump into the said man who stood at the doorway.   
  
"Sorry 'bout that," said Draco, not really noticing who it was, and quickly retrived Ginny's fallen books. Professor Snape had beckoned for him and he entered the class, without another word said between them.   
  
"A gentlemen too," said Minora with a sly grin as they walked past him towards the Great Hall.   
  
"Minora — please," said Ginny, making a face. "You don't know Malfoy."   
  
"And I suppose you do?" quipped Minora. They settled down at their usual spot on the House table, and Ginny glared at the blonde.   
  
"I know him more than you do," said Ginny huffily, and began to pour herself some pumpkin juice.   
  
"So I've just transferred," said Minora, waving a hand around impatiently. "That doesn't mean I don't know him."   
  
"Actually, Min, that _does_."   
  
"I've heard about him," said Minora indignantly. "I've read the articles about his part in the Dark Lord's defeat."   
  
"Doesn't mean you know him," said Ginny simply and took a bite out of her ham sandwich. "Trust me, Draco Malfoy is bad."   
  
"Wasn't he a member of the Order? How can he be bad?"   
  
"He was a rotten little thing in the early years," said Ginny. "Terrible. He'd pick on just about everyone, and even tried to get Hagrid fired once. Nasty thing, really." Images in her head began reeling out like film of the Draco she was familiar with. Remembering the horrible sneer he'd have whenever he'd pick on someone made her scowl.   
  
Minora pursed her rosy lips at Ginny. "You make it seem like he's the Dark Lord himself," she said. "He couldn't've been _that_ bad."   
  
At this Ginny shrugged. "Maybe not," she admitted. "If so, he sure did a good job of hiding his good side."   
  
Minora began to poke at her stew with pouting lips. "Still hot though," she said quietly, making Ginny choke on her juice. "Well you have to admit!" she said indignantly.   
  
Ginny sighed. She raked through her memory for the Draco they had just met. She saw his fine, silvery hair first. Then his pale figure, enveloped in black robes. Then his face cleared into those handsomely chiseled features. And last, his eyes, gray and misty with a curious glint that made Ginny's own eyes flutter.   
  
"Told you so," said Minora smugly, noting the look on Ginny's face. She had had that look not so long ago.   
  
Ginny grinned, her cheeks turning slightly pink. "Well he wasn't always that cute," she said, hoping to save herself a little bit of dignity. Handsome as Draco was now, she refused to call a Malfoy "hot". Minora, having seemed satisfied of her friend's admittance, turned her attention to her lunch, leaving Ginny free to collect herself.   
  
Minora's words echoed in Ginny's head, and she wondered just how well she knew Draco. She doubted anyone knew any more than she. He always seemed to be so cruel and heartless. Whenever she'd see him in the halls, he'd always have the most annoyed look. Like he was too good to be in Hogwarts. He was always going out of his way to make other people feel inferior around him. Being a Weasley, she was brought up to despise Malfoys and what they stand for. Draco Malfoy, especially, what with her brother hating him so much. Yet wasn't the kind-faced man she had just met the same person? She knew only too well that you couldn't help what family you're born into. Was Draco just another victum of fate's cruel ways?   
  
"You gonna' finish your jello?" asked Minora, pulling Ginny out of her thoughts. Numbly, Ginny handed over her jello cup, wondering vaguely what possessed her to think about Draco in such a way.   
  
  
_ Chapter Three; Draco visits the Manor, and struggles with his inner demons._


	3. Pectoralis Daemon

**Chapter Three: Pectoralis Daemon**   
  
  
"Damn," cursed Snape, as Draco had just sprouted a pair of unappealing pixie wings. He uttered a string of more colorful words and began scribbling down some notes on a scroll of parchment he held.   
  
Draco gave the man an impatient look. He had been chugging down potion after potion for the Professor, and not one in the seventy-two Draco had counted worked properly.   
  
"I thought you were supposed to be the Potions Master," said Draco irritably as Snape handed him the antidote.   
  
"Ah, well — genius has to start somewhere," said Snape, a sly grin creeping through his mouth. He was handing a reluctant Draco another potion, when he caught sight of his watch. "Well — seems we've got a bit off schedule. That'll be all, Mr. Malfoy. I thank you." He quickly rolled up his scrap of parchment and placed them neatly inside his desk drawers.   
  
"No problem," said Draco, and peaked behind him to make sure he was wing-free. "Hope you don't mind my leaving without tea — I'm supposed to visit the Manor today."   
  
"Really?" said Snape, intrigued. He gave Draco a wary look. "Is this your first time to go back there since the incident?"   
  
Draco shifted uncomfortably. He silently thanked the man for referring to it as an incident. "Yes," he said finally, refusing to meet his mentor's eyes. "The Ministry wants me to so some sort of inventory check." He shrugged. "Figured it was time I went back anyway."   
  
Snape didn't say anything at this, but nodded. He dug deep into his in-robe pocket and pulled out a crystal bottle filled with a clear blue liquid. He placed it into Draco's hand without a word.   
  
Draco stared. The bottle was no bigger than his own hand, made of a fine crystal that had an engraving of an ancient language Draco couldn't quite place. The liquid, he noticed, wasn't of clear blue, but gray. Silver swirls inside the liquid made it look as if it held clouds.   
  
"Sir?"   
  
"Pectoralis Daemon." He caught Draco's puzzled look and said, "Subdues your inner demons temporarily. Much like how whiskey gets to your senses."   
  
Understanding, Draco nodded. "Thank you, sir."   
  
Snape waved a hand and turned back to the fuming cauldron on his desk. Draco felt no goodbyes were needed so he slowly made his way to the dungeon door.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Draco was in no hurry. In truth, he wanted nothing more to get the whole ordeal over with — though that still didn't make him stop dreading it.   
  
He took his time, walking through the corridors and climbing the moving stairs of the Hogwarts school. It was very lucky, indeed, that Filch hadn't caught him yet. Even a note from Snape wouldn't keep Filch from throwing out an outsider — especially that of Draco Malfoy.   
  
He found himself walking inside the Library, feeling welcomed with its usual silence. He was not at all surprised to see the familiar brown head of last year's Head Girl hovering over a rather large book on Runes.   
  
"Why, if it isn't the Head Girl," Draco said in his usual drawl, and grinned when Hermione's head popped up in surprise. She scanned around the Library quickly, and rested her eyes on Draco with a look of confusion and anger.   
  
"Who're you?" she said, brown eyes raking over Draco's stature. "If you're not a Hogwarts personnel, I'm afraid you'll have to leave."   
  
Draco chuckled, and leaned casually against a pillar with a taunting grin. "What's the matter? Don't remember me?" He put on a sneer to give her a little hint.   
  
Hermione's brows furrowed in puzzlement, then shot up suddenly in realization.   
  
"Malfoy?" she asked, almost breathless.   
  
"Now, now," he said, feigning a hurt look, "I never did like the last name basis we were all on in our school days. Is it too much to ask to be referred to as my given name?"   
  
"Like 'Draco' is any better," quipped Hermione.   
  
Draco laughed, an honest and sincere laugh. "That's true," he admitted. "Curse the man who gave me such a name." He paused and looked thoughtful before adding, "Oh hey — I did."   
  
Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Draco, you did what you had to do, you'd've _died_ if you hadn't — "   
  
"Yeah, yeah," said Draco, holding up a pale hand to shush her. "I'd heard it all."   
  
She huffed angrily. "Then stop being so bitter about it."   
  
"Am I being bitter?" asked Draco lightly. "Funny, I hadn't noticed."   
  
"Honestly," she said, suddenly standing up. "You act as if you've been through hell. You haven't. _Harry_'s been through loads more than — "   
  
"Perfect Potter," sneered Draco, suddenly losing his light attitude. "_Harry_'s been through hell, _Harry_ defeated Voldemort, _Harry_ saved everyone's life — Harry, Harry, Harry." He scowled. "You don't know what _I've_ been through, Granger. So don't assume that your _Harry_'s been through more than I have."   
  
"He _has_," said Hermione haughtily.   
  
At this, Draco laughed — a dry, derisive laugh. "You really aren't as smart as people think you are," he said and left before giving Hermione the chance to respond.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
He remembered the fire. Charms and spells prevented the fire from ever catching unto the Manor's woodwork, so it never grew. All that burned was a single, solitary figure. A tall man, a little above six feet, with long flowing blonde hair. It was odd how the fire barely looked to be making contact with his skin. The man's face was void of pain. He didn't scream. But Draco knew it burned him. Lucius Malfoy never screamed — not for anything or anyone. He feared nothing. Except perhaps his Master. Never did he think to suspect his own son.   
  
Draco made it to the Malfoy Manor in no time. Apparation in the Malfoy estate was impossible, just like it was in Hogwarts. But Draco, having had so many adventures investigating and mapping out the estate, made it there with ease.   
  
The Manor was a large structure. It matched even Hogwarts's capacity, give or take a Wing or two. Draco had been told that the Manor was built around Merlin's time, though he never really took it seriously. Otherwise the Manor would've been built right in the middle of a lake. The whole estate, in fact, would've been in that very lake. Draco figured the lake had dried up, and a Malfoy saw a vast land, free for the taking, and claimed it. Made perfect sense to him. It's what Malfoys did.   
  
Draco entered the Manor, and couldn't help but grin. It had been months since the place had been deserted, though you'd never guess that by looking at it. The Manor was in perfect shape, like it was newly built. Draco didn't doubt that some sort of charm was put on the Manor from ever deteriorating.   
  
He entered the Left Wing, and was welcomed by sneering portraits of his younger self. His mother truly adored him, and spent large amount of money to have his portrait painted every year on his birthday. It annoyed his father to death but it was one of the rare things his mother had asked for.   
  
He looked at his past selves with a grimace. He really was an ugly boy growing up. Puberty was terrible to him. He was always a late blossomed, his mother would say. He didn't grow til he was fifteen, and even then he had only grown a good four inches. He was only 5'4" when he left Hogwarts.   
  
His body grew at different rates. He was short, but his feet were big enough for someone 6'0". He was a terrible-looking thing, really. It was a glorious day for him, indeed, when he finally grew.   
  
Now he stood at a proud 6'1", with looks and a body Muggles would kill for. He returned a scowl given to him by his 12 year old self and entered a hallway filled with ivory and marble. It was easy to get lost in a place like Malfoy Manor. Even Draco, having lived there for most of his young life, had turned up in a closet instead of a bathroom a time or two. But Draco found that finding your way around was just like flying a broom; you only get better with practice.   
  
He passed the a large room with a rectangular stage in the center. Along the walls were rows and rows of old-fashioned swords and weaponry. The Dueling Room. Draco certainly had his share of "memories" in that room.   
  
He felt a cold chill cling to his skin, and he shivered. He quickened his pace to the Library as he tugged his cloak tighter around him. He wanted to be done with the whole hassle and leave this place once and for all. He cursed the Ministry for making _him_ go through his father's books. Isn't that what Aurors are for? Or librarians, even?   
  
He ran his eyes through his father's extensive book collection. The room itself could match that of his Slytherin Common Room. From the doorway to the end of the room, ran a long velvet rug, leading up to a large oak desk. There were many times when Draco had seen his father on that desk, scribbling noisily as he researched book after book. On either side of the room, were rows and rows of shelves, stocked with books of all sizes. His father had a thirst for books — especially ones with the word "death" or "curse" in the title. There were twelve shelves in all, all housing over sixty books.   
  
"720," Draco said aloud after mentally calculating (he wasn't Head Boy for nothing, after all). He groaned. "720," he repeated, shutting his eyes in horror. How was he supposed to go through 720 books? That kind of work was for bookworms like Granger, he thought bitterly.   
  
He made his way over to the very end of the shelves, and randomly selected a book.   
  
He blinked. The book was thin, and leather-bound. It was drenched in a dry, red liquid, with a gaping hole poked right through the middle of it.   
  
Tom Riddle's diary.   
  
He dropped it as if it had burned him. Hadn't his father gotten rid of that? Draco cast a nervous glance around the room. It was empty, just as it had been when he entered. But why did he have the most annoying feeling that he was being watched? Slowly and cautiously, he backtracked to the door. The Ministry could bloody well do this themselves, he thought and ran through the halls and out of the Manor as fast as his nimble, Seeker body would let him.   
  
He got as far as the lake when his body gave up. He collapsed on the soft earth, and numbly dug inside his robes for a small bottle. In one quick gulp, he downed the potion and felt his senses weaken. The sky above him swirled and darkened, and he had the funniest feeling in the pit of his stomach. Then all he saw was black.   
  
_The fire enveloped him. It was an odd feeling. He wasn't being burned, but tickled. The flames were soft against his skin and ruffled through his hair like wind.   
  
He liked it._   
  
  
_Chapter Four; Draco gets quite the hangover, a visit from an old "friend", another one of those freaky dreams, comes close to passing out more than once, and actually does._


	4. Vexes

**Chapter Four: Vexes**   
  
  
It was beyond Draco how he managed to get back to his flat from the Estate. He figured he'd probably gotten there on his own, though he couldn't remember a thing after taking that potion.   
  
And what a potion that was, Draco thought, while splashing his face with cold water again. He felt like he'd just gotten over a hangover — one of the worst he'd ever had. Yet it hurt about ten times more and didn't go away as easily as his usual hangovers did. He'd learned that chocolate made the migraines go away, but he was fresh out of the stuff. So he was left with nothing but cold water, a terrible headache, and a lump in his throat.   
  
Perfect.   
  
He stumbled back to his bed, forgetting to use his eyes completely, and allowed himself to fall — not lightly — on it, making his headache — if possible — even worse.   
  
He groaned at his own patheticness. He knew Snape probably had some sort of remedy for this, but his pride kept him from contacting the older man about it. He wasn't about to go running to Snape because of a headache. He could take care of himself, and it didn't hurt as much now that he was laying down.   
  
He moved to pull his covers over him and nearly yelped when he found a body hidden underneath them. His headache had just reached a whole new level, but even still he forced his eyes to focus on the person in bed with him.   
  
It was a woman. He could tell from her figure, and the long, ruby hair that covered her face. She was curled into a sleeping position and wore a black, silk nightdress, though her eyes were wide open and staring at him. His groaned.   
  
"What, in the name of Merlin, are you _doing_ here?!" he yelled, causing a sharp pain to throb from his left temple.   
  
The woman sat up on the bed, and put on a playful pout. Her glittering brown eyes flirted tauntingly with Draco, though he was too dizzy to notice.   
  
"Haven't you missed me, Draco?" the woman said in a soft purr, and inched closer to him.   
  
He backed away uncomfortably, though he didn't get off the bed — Merlin knew it would be a struggle for him.   
  
"What do you want?" he spat irritably, and wished she'd get off the bed so he could lay down again.   
  
"I missed you," she said simply, and moved to nuzzle his neck with her lips. He jerked away before she could make contact though, sending another jolt of pain through his head. The woman gave him a pout in disappointment, which he quickly avoided looking at. The woman then nodded understandably, and, with a sly grin, began to pull down the straps of her nightdress.   
  
"What are you _doing_?!" said Draco.   
  
"You're playing hard to get," cooed the woman, batting her long, rust-colored eyeslashes at him.   
  
"I'm not playing _anything_," said Draco, and hurriedly tore his eyes away before the last strap fell. He really didn't want to be doing this at that moment — his headache was getting worse by the second.   
  
The woman giggled, and threw herself across Draco's lap, nearly making him pass out from the pain.   
  
"Oh, come on, Draco," simpered the woman. "I know you missed this."   
  
"I don't," spat Draco, but made no effort to pushher off — he was just too tired to.   
  
"Well, I have," said the woman, and began to leave a trail of soft kisses from his neck to his jawbone. "You've had me so worried," she purred, sending a soft breeze through Draco's ear.   
  
"I bet," said Draco, irritably shutting his eyes while the woman continued her fun.   
  
"Seriously," she said, while unbuttoning his shirt, "when you'd run off like that, we'd thought the Ministry'd get you for sure."   
  
"I was _working_ for the Ministry," said Draco, almost lazily. As much as he hated to admit it, the warmth from the woman's body was making him feel very comfortable, and he was dangerously close to falling asleep. He didn't dare to though, not while the woman was there.   
  
"Right," giggled the woman, and sent a jolt through Draco's neck as she did so. "Working for the Ministry," she repeated, and giggled again. "Honestly, what were you up to?"   
  
That was it. Draco had had enough. He stood up, almost too quickly, sending the woman rolling down the floor, and another sharp pain through his head.   
  
"You mean when I killed my own father?" he asked, his voice no longer dull and tired, but firm and harsh.   
  
The woman blinked angrily at him. "I know you didn't do that for the Ministry," she said, and stood up to face him — even then she had to tilt her head up to see him. "I know in some way it was to help the Dark Lord, I know it!"   
  
"Help him?" echoed Draco, almost hysterically. "How would I be helping Voldemort by killing off one of his most trusted Death Eaters, which later brought on _more_ deaths of his _other_ Death Eaters, not to mention himself?!"   
  
The woman looked as if Draco was mad — and he probably was.   
  
"You don't know?" she said slowly.   
  
Now it was Draco's turn to blink.   
  
"Know what?"   
  
The woman's confused look contorted into a smile — a cold and merciless smile. "You don't know," she said again, now as a statement.   
  
"Get out, Blaise," Draco whispered. He was shaking from controlled anger.   
  
Calmly, Blaise gathered her things (a purse and fur cloak) and walked to the door.   
  
"We'll meet again," she said, in the same soft purr, and left. The moment she had, Draco collapsed into his bed, feeling like his whole breath and energy had left him. He curled himself into a ball, and as he pulled his covers over him, he found himself missing the warmth from her body and wishing he had not sent her away.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
_The fire encircled him now — towering walls of ember. He stood alone in the middle, but he was surrounded by hooded figures in long, black cloaks — twelve in all. He looked around at them all — they were still and silent, like they were waiting for something. He looked down at himself. He was wearing a shiny black shirt, made of silk, no doubt, and equally dark pants. The thick lining of his pants — was that leather? — and heavy material of his shirt would've normally made him perspire, but he didn't. Ironically, he felt cold. His hands felt numb, and his lips were chapped.   
  
Suddenly, the figure in front of Draco took a step forward. Slowly, it raised it's hand, a small and feminine hand, and held it out expectantly.   
  
Draco stared at it's hand. What did it want?   
  
Then, as if reading his mind, the figure answered, it's voice soft and steady.   
  
"You're blood."_   
  
His eyes snapped open as the words echoed through his mind. That had done it. As quickly as he could without making his head throb more, he dashed out of his flat, and out into Muggle London.   
  
He felt extremely foolish for choosing to live all the way out in Muggle London as he quicked his pace to the pub that led to Diagon Alley. He hadn't even gotten his cloak before he left. The cold and bitter air clung to him, reminding all to well that autumn was approaching.   
  
It surprised him how quickly he had made it to Hogsmeade, and even more at how unbearable the pain in his head was being. It was like a sharp knife, heated, was constantly being chiseled into his skull. His skull would resist the trespasser, causing an aggressive war in Draco's head. He could barely stand, let alone focus his eyes.   
  
He heard the indistinct sound of voices from somewhere in front of him, then felt a quick and harsh shove on his left shoulder. He staggered, and nearly fell over. "Hey," he heard himself say, and blinked furiously at the offender. His vision blurred, and blinking was fruitless. Finally, after many attempts to squint his eyes, he saw red. Flaming red hair that looked so much like the wine his father used to drink.   
  
"Blaise?" he muttered, swaying in his spot.   
  
"Blaise?" the woman echoed. Her voice was gentle — concerned. Definitely not Blaise.   
  
"Bugger," Draco muttered again, and felt himself crumble unto the cold street floor. He blinked up at the graying sky, which was suddenly clouded over with red. The woman had run to his side, and Draco was able to make out two honey-brown eyes staring worriedly at him before it all went black again.   
  
  
_Chapter Five; Harry and Ron finally show up, a bit of a past romance is revealed for teaser purposes, and the ever-classic Infirmary scene!_


	5. Sympathy For The Enemy

_A/N: The chapters get longer as the plot progresses (yes, there_ is _a plot)._   
  
  
**Chapter Five: Sympathy For The Enemy**   
  
  
Lazily, Ginny climbed out of her bed. She pried her sheets off of her legs before standing up. She had no classes that day, it being Sunday, but she was eager to get to Hogsmeade early. Being a seventh year Prefect earned her a few benefits — one being able to go to Hogsmeade without the rest of the school. Dumbledore had allowed her to go, as her brothers and Harry had promised her a tour around the twins' new joke shop.   
  
She quickly pulled over a white, button-up shirt over her head, which she then covered with a thick, emerald sweater. The chilling, autumn air was reason to this heavy clothing, though it did not prevent her from sporting a black, pleaded skirt. She took a long look at herself in her full-length mirror before finally becoming satisfied. She grinned inwardly, thinking at how ironic it was that she was wearing Slytherin colors. No doubt Ron would protest, she thought lightly, before walking out through the portrait hall.   
  
She decided to skip breakfast, feeling too anxious to see her brothers and Harry again to be hungry. She turned a corner, nearly colliding head-on with Professor Snape.   
  
"Watch it!" he barked, and headed at top speed towards a large, stone gargoyle. Ginny huffed angrily, muttering words like "git" and "rude" as she continued her way out of the castle.   
  
She entered the quiet village of Hogsmeade a lot earlier than she had planned to, so she was left with a few extra minutes on her hands. She crossed the street in a jog and entered the Three Broomsticks. In minutes, she was happily greeted by the pretty Madam Rosmerta, who continued to compliment her on what a fine lady she'd grown into all the way to her booth.   
  
"And you hair!" Madam Rosmerta exclaimed, looking longingly at Ginny's ruby locks. "The way it shines!" she continued, her hand raking over her own hair.   
  
Ginny grinned sheepishly, feeling her face redden from the woman's compliments.   
  
"Thank you, Madam Rosmerta," said Ginny, and the woman tittered.   
  
"Oh, Ginny, I've known you since you were 13 years old," said Madam Rosmerta, looking at the tomato-red Ginny lovingly. "What a woman you've grown to be!" She sighed dreamily. "Harry's a fool for looking over you."   
  
Ginny choked on her butterbeer. She gaped at Madam Rosmerta, a few droplets still fresh on her chin.   
  
"Madam Rosmerta!" Ginny gasped, staring at the woman disbelievingly. "How did you — "   
  
"Know?" interrupted Rosmerta, scoffing as she took the seat across Ginny. "Oh, dear, everyone knows."   
  
Ginny's mouth hung open. "H-How?!"   
  
At this, Rosmerta grinned. "Oh, nothing stays secret in Hogwarts." Her expression softened and she took Ginny's hand in her's. "I'm sorry I've never been there to comfort you."   
  
Ginny remained silent for a moment. True that it was silly of her to think the whole thing with Harry wouldn't remain secret for very long, but hearing that everyone knew about it still shocked her.   
  
"Were you hurt badly?" Rosmerta pressed. She gave Ginny's hand a gentle squeeze and for a moment, Ginny felt annoyed. She imagined Madam Rosmerta to be quite the gossiper while she was in Hogwarts.   
  
"It was a mutual thing," Ginny explained, not really wishing to get into detail. "Honestly, Madam Rosmerta, it was," she added at Rosmerta's disbelieving look. "We just didn't feel that way for each other, that's all."   
  
"_You_ did," said Rosmerta.   
  
"I thought I did," admitted Ginny. She felt the old emotions rising up inside her heart again, and she turned to look out the window. Just as she had, the doors of the Three Broomsticks swung open, sending a cold chill to Ginny's neck, and in walked her brothers and Harry.   
  
Ginny's back stiffened as the boys made their way over, shouting noisily over their heads at some familiar customers.   
  
"All right, Rosmerta?" shouted Fred, though he was only five feet away from her.   
  
Rosmerta immediately stood up from the booth, as all the boys piled in — Harry, Ron, and George at one side, with Fred scooting in with Ginny.   
  
"Back so soon?" said Rosmerta gravely, as she pulled out a tab to take their orders.   
  
"Fred was convinced you missed us," George explained, as Rosmerta's tiny quill floated around, taking their orders.   
  
"Make mine water today, 'Merta," said Harry, and the tiny quill immediately zoomed over to write his order down.   
  
"What brings you all here?" asked Rosmerta, shooting daggars at Harry, and looking consolingly at Ginny. Ginny prayed she'd stop.   
  
"Promised Gin, here, a tour 'round the new shop," said Fred matter-of-factly.   
  
"We should get going too," said Ginny, and popped up from her seat. She didn't want to risk Rosmerta blowing up on Harry.   
  
"We haven't even gotten our drinks yet!" protested Ron, but Ginny had already begun to walk out of the shop. She stopped and waited outside the doors as Fred, Ron, George, and Harry came bustling out.   
  
"You owe me for your butterbeer," said George jokingly, and made to tousle Ginny's hair. Ginny, having spent quite some time on her hair, quickly dodged out of the way.   
  
"What was that all about?" Ron asked huffily. He must've really wanted his butterbeer.   
  
"Nothing," Ginny lied, and cast a look around the street in hopes for a distraction. Her scanning eyes stopped, planting themselves on a staggering figure that was coming towards them. Her so-called distraction came in the form of a man, none other than Draco Malfoy, looking very sickly as he made his way towards them.   
  
"Who's that?" she heard Fred ask, probably thinking they knew him as Draco did look like he was coming straight at them. Well, actually — they _did_ know him.   
  
Ginny turned to see the confused look of her brother, Ron, while the looking of recognition dawned on Harry's face.   
  
"Malfoy?" thought Harry aloud, and suddenly Ginny felt her right shoulder get pushed. She whipped her head around just in time to hear Draco say "hey" rather whiningly. She could feel her defensive mode start up, as it _was_ Draco's fault he had run into her. But Draco's behavior suddenly made her curious. He was swaying in his spot, blinking furiously at Ginny.   
  
"Blaise?" she heard him mutter, and saw his face scrunch up as he squinted at her.   
  
"Blaise?" Ginny echoed, brows furrowing at Draco's state. He did not look well at all.   
  
"Bugger," said Draco, and Ginny gasped as he fell to the ground. Impulsively, she rushed to his side. She looked at him worriedly as he blinked at her, before he finally passed out. She heard the scuffle of feet rush towards her, though she did not remove her eyes from Draco's face. He looked deathly pale.   
  
"What happened?" asked George, bending over to examine the lump that was Draco.   
  
"Bloke doesn't look so good," Fred said, tilting his head from side to side.   
  
"You're a quick one," Ron muttered under his breath.   
  
"What's he doing here?" Harry said thoughtfully.   
  
"And why does he look drugged?" Ginny added, looking even more thoughtful. Suddenly, George surprised them all as he gathered the man up in his arms.   
  
"George, what're you _doing_?!" shouted Ron, looking thoroughly disgusted.   
  
"I'm weightlifting, what does it _look_ like I'm doing? People are beginning to stare," George explained, and he shifted Draco around in his arms. Ginny couldn't blame him — Draco looked about five inches taller than the twins. "We should get him to some mediwizard or something."   
  
"Madam Pomphrey!" Ginny said suddenly. The Infirmary was the closest one from Hogsmeade.   
  
"But _Malfoy_?" said Ron, his face contorted into a grimace. "Just leave him here."   
  
"Ron, you git," said Fred, and he and George began to walk towards the Hogwarts castle. "Get over your silly little school-boy rivalry, alright? It's really very irritating."   
  
"You don't _know_ him," Ron huffed, but followed along anyway.   
  
"Neither do you," quipped George.   
  
"He's bad blood," Ron muttered, and almost immediately the twins had whirled around to glare at him.   
  
"Stop being such a hypocrite. You're doing exactly what he's done to you," scolded Fred, and Ron recoiled. While the twins were normally very carefree and playful, they'll make you feel about five years old when they're mad. They definitely got that from their mother.   
  
"He's right Ron," said Harry, and Ron suddenly looked scandalous.   
  
"Et tu, Brute?" Ron uttered, quoting a man from a Muggle play they had watched one summer.   
  
"I'm not saying you're not," said Harry, holding up his hands in surrender. "But right now, we don't really know, now do we? You know what he did for the Ministry last year," Harry added under his breath. At this, Ron reluctantly nodded, though he still looked murderous.   
  
Ginny looked from Harry to Ron. It was a known fact that both men had played a critical part in the defeat of the Dark Lord, though they hardly ever mentioned it. And when they did, they were very vague about it. Ginny had read about what Draco had done for the Ministry, though each article were different in story. She suspected that no one really know why and how Draco had killed his own father.   
  
She quickened her pace to catch up to the twins, and peared over George's shoulder to look at Draco. He was still the same pale color, though his black attire made him look almost dead. Ginny's stomach lurched and her eyes darted to his stomach. It rose up and down quickly. She saw his fingers twitch and suspected he was very cold. The poor man didn't even have a cloak on.   
  
Wait — did Ginny just call Draco a "poor man"? She would've laughed at the irony, if she wasn't so concerned for him. Terrible as he was in school, Ginny had always been quick to feeling sympathy or worry for people.   
  
Madam Pomphrey had dashed over as soon as they had entered the Infirmary. If she was by any means startled at seeing George carrying Draco, she hid it very well. She magicked him unto a bed, and quickly began checking his pulse.   
  
"Good lord, what've you got in you?" Ginny heard her mutter, and the woman removed her hand from Draco's wrist to a spot just under his jawbone.   
  
"What is it?" Ginny asked quietly, as the nurse had begun to feel Draco's forehead. He looked even paler against the whites of the sheets.   
  
"I've no idea," Pomphrey admitted, and magicked a bunch of blankets to cover Draco's shivering body. "It's a potion, I know for sure." She sighed sharply. "If only Professor Snape was here..."   
  
"Snape?" Ginny echoed, her brows furrowing. "But I just saw him earlier today!"   
  
"Yes, as did I," nodded Pomphrey. "But he left, just minutes ago. Something urgent." The old woman turned her gaze back to Draco. "I'm afraid I can't treat him until I can be sure of what's in him."   
  
"You're just going to leave him?" Ginny asked, worry clear on her face.   
  
"Gin, I'm — er — sure he'll be okay," said Fred uncomfortably. Ginny worrying over someone was not new to any of them — but over a Malfoy? Ginny took a step closer to Draco's side, anxiously wringing her hands. Since her back was to her brothers, she could not see the concerned looks they were giving her — or the murderous look Harry was giving Draco.   
  
"I should inform the Headmaster of this," announced Pomphrey and took her exit out the double doors. Ginny stared after her for a moment, before taking the seat by Draco's bed. At once, Ron began protesting.   
  
"Ginny, what — "   
  
"You guys should go," she told them, carefully avoiding Ron's glaring eyes. "I don't feel like going to Hogsmeade anymore today. Maybe next week."   
  
"So... You want us to go?" asked George. He and Fred gave Ginny identical arched brows.   
  
Ginny nodded.   
  
"I'm not really in the mood anymore," she told them.   
  
All four boys exchanged uncomfortable glances. Not one of them were very keen on leaving Ginny alone with Draco.   
  
"Look," she said, finally turning to face them all, "I'll go up to my dorm as soon as Madam Pomphrey gets back. I just want to talk to her."   
  
"About what?" inquired Ron, looking at her suspiciously.   
  
"_Something_," she told him. "Honestly, Ron, I'm not 11. I can take care of myself."   
  
"C'mon, ickle Ronniekins," teased George, grabbing hold of one of Ron's arms while Fred took hold of the other. "We have some treats for you to test out."   
  
Still feeling extremely uncomfortable, Ron allowed himself to be dragged away by the twins. Harry, however, remained where he stood.   
  
"You sure you'll be okay?" he said finally.   
  
Ginny nodded, though she looked away. "I'll be fine," she said, in barely a whisper, but knew Harry heard. "You should go before they turn Ron into a canary."   
  
Reluctantly, Harry walked towards the exit, shooting one more glance from Ginny to Draco before finally closing the doors behind him.   
  
Ginny waited to hear their footsteps dying away before sighing exhaperatedly. "Honestly, they treat me like I'm some baby!" She shot up from her seat and began pacing around. "I'm 17 — I can bloody well take care of myself." She whirled around to glare at the immobile body that was Draco, but suddenly felt her expression soften. What was she doing, venting to Draco? She was being stupid. Dejectedly, she slumped back into her seat, and waited. Madam Pomphrey was sure taking her time.   
  
Ginny turned her attention to the man beside her — because that's what he was now, a man. He looked just like she had seen him last, if not paler and with more dark circles around his eyes. His silvery hair was uncharacteristically thrown about, some strands flowing over his features. His expression was visibly softer now, more peaceful. She imagined he'd have quite the smile, upon seeing the curves of his pale lips. She'd never truly seen him smile, only a sneer or a mad grin. She wondered if he ever smiled at all — a real, honest smile. She wondered if he ever had anything to smile about.   
  
She heard about what happened to his family. She could never imagine ever killing her own father — but then again, her father was not Lucius Malfoy. But the calm and sleeping man beside her hardly looked like a killer. She studied his features more and noticed tiny creases along his mouth. She doubted they were from smiling — lines like that came from laughing, and she had never heard Draco Malfoy laugh. At least not sincerely. But no, those lines were from frowns. Scowls even. Her heart gave a guilty pang as her mind wandered over to Draco's mother. She had read the papers. Just after Lucius' death, Narcissa had gone mad and was sent away to St. Mungo's. So Draco, barely 18 years old, was left alone. But then again, Draco was probably used to being alone. Her heart gave another ache at the thought of it. She could never imagine having to live alone. Having to _be_ alone. Being left alone was her deepest and darkest fear. No one — not Ron, not Harry, not even Hermione — knew about it. She had not even realized that fear til she was 11; when she met Tom...   
  
She twitched at the thought of him. She cast a pleading look around the room, searching anywhere for a bit of hope to help her stop thinking about him. Her eyes finally settled back on the man beside her. She watched him, laying there so peacefully, his breaths coming out in small gasps, and felt her eyes begin to droop. The last thing she remembered hearing was his even breathing, before finally nodding off to sleep.   
  
  
_Chapter Six; Draco wakes up and we **finally** see some D/G interaction, Professor Lupin's back, and now **Ginny** has a dream!_


	6. Fancy You

**Chapter Six: Fancy You**   
  
  
_"You're blood."_   
  
Draco's eyes fluttered open. That same, blasted dream again. He'd secretly been hoping that the dreams would escalate; the whole blood thing was really starting to freak him out. But no, it remained the same. Absolutely nothing had changed — though now he had the strangest urge to buy leather pants.   
  
Slowly, he sat up in his bed. He had been in the Hospital Wing enough times from Quidditch injuries to know that he was, in fact, back. _Why_ he was back, though, he had no idea. His headache was better now — Pomphrey must've done something to him. But the throbbing still lingered, and with every turn of his head, he felt that oh-so familiar shock race through his temple.   
  
He sighed, his mind wandering back to the dreams.   
  
_Stop_ it.   
  
He was constantly haunted by those visions — images that made so much sense, while making no sense at all. Why did they continue to badger him? What did they mean, if they meant anything at all?   
  
And why the _bloody_ hell was the youngest Weasley asleep on the chair next to him?   
  
He stared wide-eyed at the fragile figure that had nestled herself into what looked like a rather uncomfortable position in the equally uncomfortable-looking chair.   
  
He pondered whether to poke her awake or not. Judging from the sunlight dipping inside the room, he had slept on to the next day. And by the looks of the Weasley girl's state of clothing, she had been there as long as he had. Doing what, he wondered. Surely not waiting for him. He hardly remembered her name. What was it? Grace... Patrica... Tabitha?   
  
No, that wasn't right.   
  
Draco's brows blended together while he tried his hardest to remember the girl's name. Ginger... Penny... Ginny! Or was it Jenny? Draco let out a growl of frustration. Not only was knowing the girl's name now plaguing his mind, but why it was plaguing his mind completely frustrated — if not puzzled — him.   
  
He looked at the girl again. Most of her face was covered with her bright red mane. So that's who he saw, Draco thought. No wonder he thought it was Blaise. But Blaise's hair was pure red. This Weasley girl's hair, however, seemed to be a flurry of reds, yellows, and browns. In fact, with the right lighting, it'd look gold. He couldn't really see her face much, though he had a very clear view of her body. She was around 17, Draco knew for she was a year younger than him in school. He could tell — even through the layers of clothing she wore — that she had the curves of a 20 year old. Her legs weren't so bad either. He noted the colors of her garbs — green and black — and chuckled at the irony. A Gryffindor — a _Weasley_ — donning Slytherin colors.   
  
His train of throught literally paused. She's a Weasley. What did his father always say about Weasleys?   
  
_"Muggle-loving weasels with red hair, freckles, and too many kids than they can afford."_   
  
Draco winced as he realized that he had said that as well, some time ago.   
  
The Weasley girl moved. She turned to face him now, though her eyes were still closed. Draco held his breath. After a few lip smacks, she feel right back to sleep.   
  
He watched her again. Her hair had fallen off of her face now, and were gently sprawled across her shoulders. Getting a better look at her, he noticed that she was actually rather pretty. Not anything stunning like Blaise, but there was something abuot the simplicity of her that set her apart. She wore no makeup at all, unlike Blaise or Pansy, who were usually plastered with the stuff. She was all natural. This girl... The way her russet-colored eyelashes blended perfectly with her freckles. Unlike her brothers, her freckles didn't stand out much. They blended well with the creamy color of her skin. Her lips were parted ever-so slightly, and Draco felt the sudden urge to plant his own over her's.   
  
She gasped suddenly, and began to shiver. From the way her brows had wrinkled, Draco could tell her was having some sort of nightmare. Her lips, once so full and pink, were now turning an odd shade of purple. Her skin was virtually paling right before Draco's eyes. Her shivering intensified as he watched on in horror.   
  
On an impulse, he threw his covers over her, though he had no energy to wound them tightly around her.   
  
"No — please," she gasped suddenly, and for a moment, Draco thought she had awoken. But her eyes remained closed. She shut them tightly and began to curl up into a tiny ball in her seat. "No," she whispered again, as tears began to streak down her face. "No — Tom!"   
  
Draco blinked. Tom?   
  
He watched as the girl visibly began to relax — she was getting her color back, and her grip around herself loosened. Whatever she was dreaming, it had obviously stopped. Though she was back to her soundless sleeping, Draco continued to watch her closely.   
  
What, in the name of Grindelwald, just happened?   
  
But his thoughts were stopped abruptly when Madam Pomphrey suddenly came bustling in. She looked extremely miffed.   
  
"Emergency," she tutted, not noticing that Draco was awake as she began to put clear up the area around them. "What could be so urgent that he couldn't come back to — Ah, Mr. Malfoy," she said, finally seeing him. "Awake now, are you?" She immediately went over to him to feel his forehead. Her hand was freezing against his skin.   
  
"Still not well," she said, in a way that suggested she expected as much. "Well I'm afraid our Potions Master has left the area, so I've no way to cure whatever you took," she said to him, obviously bothered by it. "What _did_ you take?"   
  
Draco stared at her. Pectoralis Daemon. That was it. Just say it, _Pectoralis Daemon_.   
  
"I don't remember," he finally blurted out, shocked by his own words.   
  
Madam Pomphrey sighed. "Then I'm afraid you're to stay here til Professor Snape gets back." She turned around and nearly yelped when she saw the Weasley girl on the seat beside him.   
  
"Goodness, has she been here all night?" she said, hands flying up to her hips.   
  
"She was having a nightmare," Draco heard himself say. "Looked like she was having some sort of seizure."   
  
"Really," said Pomphrey, though it didn't look like she really heard him. She bent down to poke the girl awake. "Ginny?" Ginny! So _that_'s her name! "Dear, it's Monday — you'll be late for your classes."   
  
Ginny tossed to the side, waving a hand in the air to shoo Pomphrey away. At this, Pomphrey huffed.   
  
"Miss Weasley!" she shouted, making the girl fall out of her seat. She blinked dazedly at Pomphrey, who had folded her arms across her chest. "It's Monday, child, you have classes to attend to."   
  
Ginny blinked. Then, as if finally realizing where she was and where she should be, she jumped up from the ground. "Oh!" she said, going slightly pink around the ears, and made a beeline for the exit doors.   
  
"What was she doing here?" Draco asked when he heard her footsteps die away.   
  
"You're guess is as good as mine," Pomphrey told him, and began to add more blankets to his bed.   
  
Draco sat in bed, not really noticing that Madam Pomphrey was still muttering on about Snape leaving so suddenly as she stomped off into her office. He remembered getting to Hogsmeade, seeing Ginny, then passing out. That was it. Did she bring him here? He remembered feeling someone carry him. He doubted whether Ginny would've been able to lift him. Perhaps someone who was with her. But who was she usually with?   
  
His eyes widened.   
  
No. Not him. Anyone but _him_.   
  
He let out a groan and fell back into his pillows. He couldn't bare to live with that fact that he was still alive and well in the Infirmary because of Harry Potter.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Ginny ran as fast as her legs could go, turning sharply at corners, and paying no attention to what ghost she ran through. She skidded to a halt as she reached her last corridor, paused to straighten out her robes, and timidly walked into the Defense Against the Dark Arts class.   
  
"Why, Miss Weasley — decided to join us, have you?"   
  
"Sorry, Professor Lupin," Ginny said sheepishly as she slipped into her seat beside Minora. "I got — er — caught up in some... stuff."   
  
She looked apologetically at the Professor, who looked back at her with tired eyes.   
  
"I'm afraid that's 5 points from Gryffindor," Lupin told her, in the gentlest of voices. Ginny nodded slowly, and he smiled.   
  
"To recap what I've just said, the defeat of the Dark Lord has greatly influenced the entire wizarding world," he said, leaning back against his desk. "Both in good ways, and bad." He paused to smile at Ginny, who smiled back. "The Dark Lord took with him his Dementors, leaving Azkaban incredibly vulnerable. Although, it did encourage an extreme do-over for our justice system — not to mention the increasing demand for Aurors."   
  
Ginny placed her elbows unto her desk, and settled her chin in her palms. She was hardly listening to Lupin's lesson, as her mind was lost in thought. She didnt' realize she had fallen asleep clear to the next day. She rubbed her eyes, trying to remember what had just happened. She remembered having a dream — but what of, she had no idea.   
  
"Sir?" said Minora suddenly, knocking Ginny out of her thoughts. Lupin turned his attention to Minora, eyebrows slightly raised. "Sir, I heard that the Dark Lord cast some sort of curse before he died. Is that true?" Ginny let out the smallest of grins. Minora was always so fascinated with the Dark Lord's defeat, her having just arrived to the country _after_ it all.   
  
"Ah — yes," said Lupin, smiling slightly. "Well, I am not quite sure whether it is true or not — but I have heard that very rumor." He nestled himself on his desk, swinging his legs as he looked up, deep in thought. "It's been said that he performed some sort of ritual, to ensure his return. But the very idea is preposterous," he added, after seeing the looks on some of his students. "No such magic exists. Once you're dead, you're dead. Not even the oldest of magic can change that."   
  
"But sir — " started Lori, a seventh year Hufflepuff. "What if he _does_ come back?"   
  
"How could he?" said Lupin, starting to look slightly annoyed. "Like I said, dead is dead. And numerous wizards have made sure of his death. Now, enough of this. We're here to learn about what happened _after_ his death — not before it."   
  
"But — "   
  
"Now if you'd all please take out some parchment," began Lupin, giving them all what he thought was a stern look, "we can begin our notes." The class let out a ripple of groans as Lupin turned his back to hide a smile.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Draco pulled a face as the mediwitch presented him with his dinner.   
  
"You can't be serious," said Draco, looking at the tray with a look of utter distaste.   
  
"What?" asked Pomphrey, looking down at the plate as well. "It's food."   
  
"_That_," said Draco, pointing at a large brown lump, "is not food."   
  
The nurse gave Draco a cold glare. "Well it's all you have, so use your imagination." She turned her heel and stalked away angrily. Draco watched after her with a small smile. The old witch was getting more and more impatient with each year.   
  
He turned back to the so-called food and nearly gagged. He waited til he heard the loud shut of the nurse's office door before he climbed off of bed. The marble floor was cold against his feet, and he looked around for his shoes. He finally noticed that they had changed his clothes to the usual white-and-blue-striped pajamas Hogswarts used. He made another face, upon looking at his reflection from the window. White and blue did nothing for him. While mostly every color went great with him, the absolute best were black, silver, and gray. Not only did they greatly compliment his eyes, hair, and complexion, but he rather liked the whole "mystery man" business that came with it.   
  
Finding no hint of where his shoes would be, he settled for a pair of fuzzy pink bunny slippers that he knew weren't offered in the Hospital Wing when he was in school. He was in luck when he found a long black cloak that he suspected was owned by Ginny, seeing as it was very feminine, and on the floor beside the chair she had slept in.   
  
No matter, he thought, and threw the cloak over him. It hardly reached his ankles. He tiptoed out the Infirmary, glancing around every corner to make sure that he wouldn't run into anyone when he finally made it to a narrow, empty corridor. He stared up at the large painting, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he had remembered his numerous nighttime strolls down there. With a feeling of odd content, he held out his hand, and tickled the green pear.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Ginny stared up at the ceiling from her four-poster bed. It was way past midnight and she still hadn't been able to sleep — or shut her eyes for that matter. She had an extreme feeling of foreboding, that if she shut her eyes, something bad would happen. She looked around helplessly, wanting nothing more than to drift off into sleep. She half-expected that if she did, she'd have that dream again. She secretly wanted to — the mystery of it was practically tearing her apart inside. Ginny was always a curious girl, having grown up with six older brothers. Too much for her own good, they'd tell her, and she smiled at the memory.   
  
She heard a small rumble from her stomach, and sighed. She regretted not eating much during dinner. Minora was practically having to force-feed her supper. But Ginny wasn't hungry — not then anyway. She sat up in her bed, looking around at the other three girls in the dorm to make sure they were fast asleep. Slowly and as quietly as she could, she creeped out of the dorm and out into the halls.   
  
After months and months of pestering the twins for information, they finally caved and told her the secret of the kitchens. She'd caught Harry, Ron, and Hermione going in a few times, though they never ever saw her. In was in that time when she found out about Harry's Invisibility Cloak. She nearly had a run-in with them until they pulled the Cloak off. She was able to hide behind a corner while they entered the kitchens, not suspecting anyone to see them. Ginny never needed an Invisibility Cloak. Having six older brothers taught her a thing or two about sneaking around. She was rather proud of herself, actually.   
  
The pear gave a hearty giggle as it transformed into a large green handle. Ginny stepped inside, and was immediately bombarded with house-elves, all extremely pleased for her visit. They presented her with lots of leftovers as some tugged at her robes for her to sit down by the fire.   
  
"Miss Weezy is back!" they squeaked. "Come stay with sir, miss!"   
  
"Pardon?" asked Ginny, chewing absentmindedly on a loaf of bread they handed her.   
  
"Sir looks lonely, miss!" one house-elf squeaked, going slightly red around the ears.   
  
"Is someone else here?" Ginny asked them, and was answered not by a squeak, but a low, velvety voice that came from somewhere near the fire.   
  
"They're rather hyper around this time, aren't they?"   
  
Ginny looked up to see Draco Malfoy, sitting cross-legged on a small blanket in front of the fire. He was surrounded by various plates of food, looking like he was having a solitary picnic.   
  
"I suspect that's what tea does to them," Draco continued, jerking his head towards a group of house-elves laughing heartily as they toasted each other with tiny jugs full of tea.   
  
"What're you doing here?" Ginny asked, looking at his fuzzy slippers curiously.   
  
"Nice to see you too," said Draco, smiling faintly. He turned his attention back to his meal, which Ginny noted looked rather tasty.   
  
"That's my cloak," Ginny said, suddenly realizing she must've left it at the Infirmary.   
  
"Yes, well, you left it," he told her, concluding her suspicions. He put down the food in his hand to take the cloak off and hand it to her. "Quite comfy — Gladrags?"   
  
Ginny nodded numbly as she took the cloak from Draco, who sat back down and continued on with his meal. This is just too weird, Ginny thought to herself. Here was Draco Malfoy, the spawn of her family's worst enemy, Lucius Malfoy, eating dinner. In fuzzy pink slippers.   
  
"Yes?" Draco asked, noticing her stare.   
  
Ginny mentally shook herself. Stop staring at him. But she couldn't help it. Her eyes strayed back over to the man, who was now back to his meal. His appearance threatened to make Ginny burst out laughing. It was odd — so many years had she been used to seeing him wearing the best of the best. Always in black or gray, she remembered. Yet here he was now, wearing a white-and-blue-striped cotton-polyester pajamas, and pink bunny slippers. And what surprised her the most, was that he didn't even seem bothered by it. He looked rather content in them. Younger, too. And common.   
  
She tilted her head to the side, wondering vaguely if this was the same Draco Malfoy she had known in school. Surely not, she thought, and watched as he finished off a bowl of black-and-white pudding.   
  
His gray eyes lifted up from his bowl to Ginny, who suddenly realized that she had been staring at him for the longest time and snapped her head around. He gave her an amused look, and leaned back against the side of the fireplace.   
  
"Shouldn't you be in bed?" he asked her, knowing that it was way past her bedtime.   
  
"Shouldn't you?" she quipped, still looking away. Draco smiled.   
  
"Then I guess we both shouldn't be down here," he said, as the houselves began to present him with desert.   
  
"I guess so," she said, suddenly finding the ground very interesting.   
  
"Miss! Miss!" squeaked the blushing house-elf. "Miss should sit down with sir! Sit! Is much comfier, miss!"   
  
Ginny looked down at the house-elf, then up at Draco, who was looking at the ceiling with a faint smile on his lips. Ginny allowed herself to be dragged over by the house-elf, and sat opposite Draco, feeling very very awkward. The house-elves then began to pile more food around them, a few females giggling at the two.   
  
"Aren't you hungry?" came Draco's voice, the slightest hint of amusement in his tone.   
  
"No," Ginny lied. For some reason, she didn't want to eat in front of Draco.   
  
"Isn't that why you came down here?" asked Draco, watching her closely.   
  
"Yes — no," Ginny said, burning a hole through the ground with her eyes. She felt her cheeks burn, and wondered why the hell she was blushing.   
  
"Mm," said Draco, and began to wiggle his feet around, making the bunny slippers look as if they were conversing with one another.   
  
"How are you?" Ginny found herself asking, chancing a look at the man beside her. They were awfully close.   
  
"Okay, I guess," he answered, still watching the show he was putting on with the bunnies. "Head hurts like hell, but at least I'm not passing out anymore."   
  
"Oh," was all Ginny could say, and looked away. "What did you take, anyway?" she said suddenly, not even realizing she had been wondering that.   
  
Draco stopped moving around his feet, and paused to choose his words carefully. Ginny watched him closely.   
  
"Snape gave me a potion," he said, a far-off look in his eyes. "To subdue me for a while." He chuckled lightly. "I don't think I was supposed to take the whole thing, though."   
  
"Subdue you? For what?" asked Ginny, before she could stop herself. Damn her curiosity.   
  
"Something," he said simply. Then, feeling that she wouldn't settle for just that, added, "Visiting the Manor isn't exactly the most calming thing."   
  
"Oh," Ginny said again, feeling more and more awkward as a silence settled in. Draco was back to wiggling around his feet, and Ginny now found her cloak very interesting.   
  
"It was you that found me, right?" Draco said suddenly, though he didn't take his eyes off of his feet.   
  
"Er — yeah," Ginny answered. "Actually, me and my brothers did. Well — me, my brothers, and Harry." She watched to see how he'd react upon hearing Harry's name. He seemed to have gone paler.   
  
He cleared his throat. "Who brought me here?"   
  
"We all did," Ginny said, and tried to stifle a giggle. "George carried you."   
  
Draco virtually relaxed upon hearing that. "Oh," he just said, and continued on with his bunny show. Various house-elves looked at the two anxiously, some wringing their hands in anticipation. Ginny stared back with anger written all over her face. Just what were they expecting, anyway?   
  
"Is miss not happy?" a house-elf Ginny knew as Dobby said. He took a step towards her with big sad brown eyes.   
  
"Miss feels uncomfortable," Draco answered for Ginny, and almost immediately a number of elves presented her with pillows and comforters. Draco chuckled as Ginny reluctantly accepted.   
  
"Why did you tell them that?" frowned Ginny, as the elves went out of their way to give her as many pillows they can acquire.   
  
"What? It's true," answered Draco. He settled back against the fireplace, away from Ginny's view.   
  
Ginny's frown deepened. She wanted to tell him the truth — that she actually felt quite comfortable sitting there next to him, even considering the fact that their shoulders were about five inches apart. But where would that get her? She stifled a yawn, and felt a shiver travel up her spine as Draco placed a hand on her shoulder.   
  
"You should go back to bed," he whispered, making the blood flow to her cheeks.   
  
"I'm not sleepy," she said, though her lie was ruined as it was soon followed by a yawn. She heard Draco's soft chuckle and sighed. "I don't want to sleep," she muttered.   
  
"What's the matter?" he asked, taking his hand away from her shoulder. Ginny felt an odd urge to have him place it back. "Bad dreams?" His tone wasn't mocking, but Ginny still felt the urge to defend herself.   
  
"What keeps me up is none of your business," she snapped.   
  
"Calm down," he said, amidst his chuckles. "It's far too late — or early, however you want to look at it — to butt heads." Suddenly his pale face came into her view again, as he pushed himself off of the wall. "I'd like to think that one day a Weasley and a Malfoy can be civil toward one another."   
  
"Way to dream big," Ginny muttered, and was surprised to see Draco smile — an actual, sincere smile.   
  
"Yeah, well, the truce has got to start somewhere," he said, and held out a hand to her. Ginny arched a brow at him. "I'd always wanted to piss my father off," he told her, smile still lingering around his face. "What better to do that than end this bitter rivalry that he started?"   
  
Ginny stared at him suspiciously. Was he for real? She was sure her brothers wouldn't even think twice about this offer, but she liked to pride herself on being more sensible than them.   
  
With a sly smile, she took his hand and shook it slightly.   
  
"Alright," she said, "but it's on you to convince the rest of the family that."   
  
Draco laughed, and before she knew it, he had raised her hand to brush his lips over it.   
  
"You're something special, you know that?" he said, plastering his charming smile and pushed himself off the ground. He quickly brushed away any crumbs he had dropped on himself and walked towards the door. "Good night, Ginny," he said, still smiling, and walked out.   
  
Ginny continued to at the door even after he had left. Was she just flirting with Draco Malfoy? She felt her shoulders shake with silent laughter. Boy, would Ron have a fit about that!   
  
  
_Chapter Seven; Harry's a git, Ginny sobs, Draco comforts (or comes close to doing so), Dumbledore snacks, and Snape returns!_


	7. Surprise, Surprise

**Chapter Seven: Surprise, Surprise**   
  
  
"Miss Weasley," said the stern Professor of Transfiguration, "it appears you're being called to Professor Lupin's office." She peered at Ginny through her spectacles as she folded up a note that had been delivered by one of the school owls.   
  
"Professor Lupin?" Ginny asked, looking up from her notes.   
  
"Yes," answered McGonagall, looking a bit annoyed that her class had been disrupted. "Immediately."   
  
Ginny gave fellow classmate, Colin Creevey, a questioning look, who gave her a shrug in response. With a puzzled look, she gathered up her things and stepped outside of the classroom towards Lupin's office.   
  
She was surprised to see not the Professor, but Harry inside.   
  
"Wha — Harry?" gasped Ginny, as he stood up from his seat and greeted her. "What are you doing here?"   
  
"I wanted to talk to you," he explained, but Ginny still regarded him suspiciously.   
  
"You could've done that _after_ class," she said. She felt anger rush through her and did her best to control it. She didn't know why, but lately Harry's presence bothered her.   
  
"Well — yeah," he admitted, and she was glad to see him looking embarrassed about it. "But it's kind of urgent."   
  
"What's so urgent then?"   
  
Harry chose that moment to become very interested in his shoes.   
  
"_Harry_?" Ginny said, feeling very annoyed by him just then.   
  
"Is something going on between you and Malfoy?" he blurted out suddenly. Ginny looked at him in surprise, before suddenly doubling over in laughter.   
  
"You — you think," she choked as she tried to gather up the words. "Me and — and _Malfoy_?" She clutched at her sides as she laughed again. It took her a moment to settle down, and she had to lean against the wall to support herself. "Goodness, Harry, whatever gave you that idea?"   
  
"Well — Dobby," Harry told her, and brandished out a letter with tiny, child-like handwriting. "He wrote to me and told me you and Malfoy were at the kitchens together."   
  
Ginny bit her lip as laughter threatened to overcome her again. "You're nutters," she said, her voice shaking with stifled laughter.   
  
Harry's brows pushed together as he suddenly looked very annoyed. "Ginny, I'm asking you seriously."   
  
"Oh, Harry, of course nothing's going on!" she said, still chuckling. "And you're nutters for thinking so." She took the letter from Harry's hand and ran her eyes over it. "All Dobby said was that we were eating together — you came all the way over here because of _that_?"   
  
Harry shifted around uncomfortably. "Well that and the way you were when we found him."   
  
"Harry — I've been that way to everybody," she told him.   
  
"But never Malfoy," said Harry.   
  
"Honestly Harry," said Ginny lightly, "did Ron put you up to this?"   
  
"No," Harry muttered, tilting his head down. "I was worried."   
  
Ginny sighed. "I can take care of myself," she said firmly. Honestly, why do they always treat me like a baby?   
  
"Yeah but — Ginny, I still care about you," he said, taking a step towards her. "You're practically my little sister," he said, and held up a hand to cup her cheek.   
  
Ginny gave him a blank look. "I don't need you to look after me," she said through gritted teeth. He couldn't see that she had balled her fists up in controlled anger. "I've got enough older brothers breathing down my neck without you to come saving the day." She tore away from him and backed toward the door.   
  
"Ginny," said Harry, looking at her with concern. "What's going on?"   
  
Ginny laughed harshly. "That's just it, Harry," she told him, shaking her head. "You never knew. You never bothered to find out." Her hand searched for the doorknob behind her as Harry took another step towards her. "You're not my brother, Harry. You're not my father, or my boyfriend. Stop acting like you are." She shut the door firmly behind her, and walked back to her class with a smug smile on her face. She finally said what she wanted to, when she wanted to.   
  
She was halfway back to the Transfiguration's class, when she stopped dead. She stood in silence for a moment, as a sudden idea flashed through her mind. Without giving it a second thought, she turned a corner and headed towards the Hospital Wing.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Never, in the countless times Draco had been there, had he known how dead boring the Hospital Wing was. Madam Pomphrey constantly badgered him to take an awful-tasting serum for his headaches. It was all he could do to fight her. He'd rather suffer with migraines than take that crap.   
  
Professor Snape still hadn't returned. It had been two days since Draco had been there, and he dangerously close to losing his patience. He only put up with it all to speak with Snape. He had finally resigned to talk to the Potions Master about his dreams. Perhaps the man had some sort of potion to get rid of them.   
  
Draco's ears pricked up as he heard footsteps coming towards him.   
  
"I don't care how well it works," he shouted, "I'm not taking it."   
  
He was surprised to see, when the curtains were pulled back, not Madam Pomphrey, but Ginny Weasley. He stared.   
  
"Don't you have a class?"   
  
Ginny's cheeks gave her away, as they suddenly became flushed with red.   
  
"Is there some reason you're here?" Draco pursued.   
  
Ginny met his gray eyes with her own golden-brown. She was obviously pissed about something. When she spoke, her voice dripped with icy venom — a tone Draco had never heard on anyone other than a Malfoy.   
  
"Harry's such a git."   
  
Draco's brows shot up in surprise. The girl actually meant it. She was practically fuming at the ears. The tips of his mouth quirked up as Ginny took a seat beside him.   
  
Finally, they had something in common to talk about.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"She hates me."   
  
"What?"   
  
"She hates me," Harry said again, looking gloomily at the kitchen table of his friends' flat. Ron, who sat opposite Harry, regarded him for a few moments before finally saying, "You're nutters."   
  
Harry glanced up at his best friend. After a few seconds, his gaze drooped back to the table with a look of utter defeat. "Yeah, she said that too."   
  
Ron let out an exasperated sigh as he rolled his eyes at Harry. "You git, why would she hate you?"   
  
"She practically told me to stay away from her," muttered Harry glumly.   
  
"So? She tells us all that at least twice a day."   
  
"Not like this," said Harry. Ginny's harsh words still rung in his ears. He had left Hogwarts, feeling like he had just hit the ultimate low, and traveled on to his best friends' apartment for comfort. Ron and Hermione had rented an apartment just outside the busy village of Hogsmeade, and Harry — feeling quite lonely when Sirius was off working at the Ministry — was a frequent visitor. The contrast of his friends' personalities were quite obvious, once you'd taken a look around the flat. There were shelves and shelves stocked with books, all looking thick and quite boring, and Quidditch posters (mostly of the Chudley Cannons) plastered over every wall.   
  
It was apparent, by the look in the couple's eyes when they saw him, that they had not expected him to be back so soon — or looking so downcast.   
  
"You're overreacting," assured Hermione, who put her Teaching Transfiguration For Dummies book down to pat Harry gently on the shoulder. "I'm sure Ginny didn't mean it. You know how rash Wea — Ginny is." She flashed Ron an innocent smile as he eyed her threateningly.   
  
"You guys weren't there," Harry told them, and began to pick at a burnt spot on the table. "She told me to stop acting like I'm her brother, or her dad, or — or her boyfriend."   
  
The way Ron and Hermione suddenly looked away caught Harry's attention.   
  
"What?"   
  
"Well," Hermione started, ignoring the fact that Ron was shooting daggars at her in warning. "The truth is, Harry, you _have_ been acting that way for the past few months."   
  
"What? I _can't_ be worried about her?" asked Harry indignantly.   
  
"It's not that," Ron said, carefully avoiding Harry's piercing glare. "It's just that — well — you've only started acting like you care..."   
  
"Harry," said Hermione, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly as she spoke, "put yourself in Ginny's shoes. All those years she's been in love with you, how happy she was when you two started dating, then to have you push her away?"   
  
"I," Harry began in defense, then sighed in defeat. "I didn't mean to."   
  
"We know you didn't," soothed Hermione, taking Harry in her arms in a motherly way. "You just have to realize how hard it is for Ginny, to have you suddenly care for her when you didn't for so long."   
  
"I _did_ care for her," said Harry, eyes welling up in guilt.   
  
"But you never let her know that," whispered Ron, who suddenly looked distant and far off. Hermione gave him a watchful glance, and opened her mouth to say something, when a large brown owl suddenly swooped in to drop a letter in front of them.   
  
Hermione took it in her hands, and gaped as she stared at the names printed across it.   
  
"Harry," she whispered, breathlessly. "It's from Snape."   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"He's clueless, arrogant, and what is _up_ with his hair?" ranted Ginny, as she was practically willing the sheets of Draco's bed to catch fire through her glare.   
  
"Hear, hear," responded Draco, grinning happily as Ginny continued on.   
  
"What's his problem anyway?" said Ginny. "I mean, how _dare_ he act like that! He treats me like I'm still 11! I'm _17_!"   
  
She growled and threw a punch to a pillow Draco had given her to control to her anger. He watched on in amusement. Ginny, he learned, was full of emotions that she kept bottled up. She had quite the right hook, too.   
  
"It's not fair," Ginny sighed, suddenly looking very tired. She slumped into the seat beside Draco's bed, carrying the pillow with her to caress it gently. Draco was strongly reminded of a young toddler getting touchy about cookies before supper time.   
  
Tears began to well up in Ginny's eyes, and try as she might to hide them, Draco had already seen. He shifted around in his bed uncomfortably, not knowing how to handle a crying woman.   
  
No one had ever really cried in front of him. Malfoys always seemed to radiate this "I'm cold and unmerciful" aura that generally warded people off.   
  
But here was Ginny Weasley — the only daughter of one of his father's biggest enemies — _crying_. If he were any less of a man, he'd've taken advantage of her vulnerability. But he admired how she was not openly sobbing — bawling like a banshee like how he imagined Pansy Parkinson would. No, she wept silently. The tightness of her grip on the pillow told Draco that she was doing her best to contain her tears. He was impressed, and Draco Malfoy hardly got impressed. Ginny was just full of surprises.   
  
"Why are men such prats?" said Ginny suddenly, her eyes red and swollen from her tears.   
  
Draco looked at the ceiling thoughtfully, before answering, "Men are complicated creatures." He paused. "Actually — no, we aren't. We're quite simple really. Give a man a pint and a woman, and he'll be as merry as... a man with a pint and a woman."   
  
Ginny let out a groan in disgust and tore her eyes away. Draco grinned.   
  
"Not all men are bad."   
  
Ginny snorted. "_You're_ telling me that all men aren't bad?"   
  
"Ah — yes, well," said Draco, "I've got an excuse for being the way I was."   
  
"And other men don't?"   
  
"No," Draco answered simply. "See, men like Potter have gotten used to thinking the world doesn't turn unless they're there to give it a nice spin. _I_, on the other hand, am a fully-rounded human being, with a degree from the University of Life, a diploma from the Academy of Hard Knocks, and three gold stars from the School of Getting the Shit Kicked Out of Me."   
  
Ginny chuckled slightly, and regarded Draco for a while. "So you're really not the 'bad guy' people think you are."   
  
"Oh no, I am," Draco assured. "But now you know why." He offered her a small smile, which — surprisingly — she returned.   
  
"Why do you hate Harry so much?" she asked suddenly, catching Draco off-guard.   
  
"Well — why do you?"   
  
"I don't hate Harry," Ginny said indignantly.   
  
"Could've fooled me," said Draco.   
  
"A lot of things do," quipped Ginny, feeling her anger turn to Draco. She held her stand as Draco gave her a cold look — though it only lasted for a moment as he suddenl gave her a grin.   
  
"Why'd you come here?" he said.   
  
Ginny blinked at him. He couldn't be _that_ thick. "Huh?"   
  
"Why, of all people, do you come to me? Don't you have any Gryffindors to talk to about this? I hear Hufflepuffs are _great_ listeners," he said, smiling at his own joke.   
  
"Everybody adores Harry," Ginny said, looking down at her hands.   
  
"In other words," said Draco loudly, "you just want to talk to someone who hates the prat as much as you do."   
  
"I don't hate Har — " She sighed loudly in exasperation. "Fine!" she shouted, jumping up from her seat. "I don't know why I bothered to go to a _Slytherin_ anyway!" She marched out of the Infirmary, her flaming red hair suddenly emphasizing how angry she was.   
  
Lovely.   
  
Draco cursed silently. When will he ever learn to keep his fat mouth shut?   
  
"Ah — Mr. Malfoy." Madam Pomphrey had just walked in, having no clue that Ginny had been there not so long ago. "You'll be pleased to know that Professor Snape has returned — " But that was all she could say, for Draco was already halfway out the door.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Stupid.   
  
Stupid, stupid, stupid, was all Ginny could say to herself. She hid away in her dorm, mentally scolding herself for being stupid enough to think Draco would understand. No one would understand how she felt about Harry. No one knew Harry like she did. She couldn't very well go to Hermione or Ron — they were his two best friends. Going to her mother was pointless — the woman adored Harry! Everyone did. He's the perfect guy: sweet, polite, sensitive, and caring.   
  
And maybe he was. But Ginny never knew that Harry. At least not when they were dating.   
  
She buried herself underneath her covers, closing the drapes that hung around her four-poster bed. The rest of the dorm's residents were still in class — where Ginny should be. The only sound heard was of Ginny's sobs, muffled against her pillow.   
  
Tom was right.   
  
She would always be alone.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"He wants to see me," read Harry, clutching the letter like it was a grenade. He looked up to see identical shocked looks on his friends' faces. It was Ron who spoke first.   
  
"_Why_?"   
  
"It doesn't say," said Harry, flipping the letter over and over. "Just says, 'come to Hogwarts immediately'."   
  
"We're going with you," Ron said immediately, jumping up from his seat. Harry grinned inwardly — he honestly wouldn't've had it any other way.   
  
"Goodness, this can't be good," Hermione thought aloud, gathering up her things as she prepared to leave with them as well. "I'd been in that school for months as a teacher's aide and not once has he spoken to me."   
  
"He hated you," Ron explained, smirking uncharacteristically.   
  
"Oh, and I suppose he _loved_ Harry?" quipped Hermione. She and Ron proceeded to stick their tongues out in a childish fashion while Harry watched on in amusement. "But even still!" continued Hermione, turning away from Ron, "I was part of the staff — an _equal_. He doesn't say "hi" or "hello" or "nice brew" or anything!"   
  
Harry gave Ron a blank look, who simply rolled his eyes and said, "She's appointed herself the official tea-maker of the staff lounge." Harry nodded understandably and turned back to the hot-tempered Hermione.   
  
"Let's just get to the point and say he's a git," said Ron lazily, instantly receiving a cold glare from Hermione.   
  
"Alright, so what would the git want with me?" wondered Harry, and both Ron and Hermione shrugged.   
  
"We won't know til we get there, will we?" said Hermione, and proceeded to shove the two men out the door.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"What the — ?"   
  
Draco stood frozen at the door of Snape's office, which held, not only the Potions Master, but Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter.   
  
"Ah, just the man we wanted to see," said Dumbledore cheerfully. He sat at Snape's desk, with Snape and Harry sitting opposite him on tall black chairs. "Take a seat, Mr. Malfoy." He waved his hand in the air, creating another black chair to instantly appear.   
  
Right next to Harry.   
  
Draco and Harry eyed each other with a similar look of disgust. Whose face showed more hatred for the other, was unknown.   
  
"But if standing is more comfortable for you," said Dumbledore, the slightest hint of impatience in his tone. Reluctantly, Draco sat down, as far away from Harry as possible without actually falling off.   
  
"Wonderful," said Dumbledore, smiling at them all. Draco eyed Snape through the corner of his eye. He was sitting at Harry's other side, and neither men looked happy about that either.   
  
"Before we start," said Dumbledore, "would anyone care for a tartlet?" He magicked a tray of delicious-looking pastries to appear before them, and motioned for them to try some as he sampled a pink one with a strong fragrance of strawberry. "No?" said Dumbledore, as the other three men looked at him like he was daft. "Perhaps later." He cleared his throat, and suddenly looked very serious.   
  
"Professor Snape, as I'm sure Draco was aware of," began Dumbledore, and Draco happily noted that Dumbledore had referred to him by his first name. Take _that_, he called to Potter, who was watching Dumbledore with rapt attention, "had been gone for a couple of days. He has just returned, with some rather interesting news."   
  
Draco tore his eyes away from the old Headmaster to peer at his favorite Professor. Snape's face was formed into his usual scowl, but his eyes lacked it's usual mad glint. They were completely hooded over, hiding all the world's secrets inside their dark depths.   
  
Draco furrowed his brows at the man, who merely continued to stare back at him. Then, he saw the man incline his head in the slightest of ways. Draco's brows shot up.   
  
"No," Draco whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. But the dark look on Snape only confirmed his suspicions.   
  
The Potions Master opened his mouth, and revealed everything that Draco had never wanted to know.   
  
  
----------   
  
  
"a fully-rounded human being, with a degree from the University of Life, a diploma from the Academy of Hard Knocks, and three gold stars from the School of Getting the Shit Kicked Out of Me" is an altered quote from Blackadder, and the "whose face showed more hatred for the other" line was inspired by JKR's description of Snape and Sirius' meeting in PoA.   
  
  
_Chapter Eight; Ron suspects, Draco's drunk (again), and something's wrong with Ginny._   
  
  
  
Thanks to Elle Deni Minaty and wolviesrogue for the nice reviews. ^^; I'm glad _someone_ likes it. 


	8. Complexity

**Chapter Eight: Complexity**   
  
  
"I've tried everything," Minora said. "She won't talk to anyone. She's missed half of our Transfiguration and the whole of Care of Magical Creatures."   
  
"That's not like her," pondered Hermione, pouting her lips thoughtfully. "She wouldn't risk being revoked from her Prefect position like that."   
  
"Will she be?" asked Ron hoarsely.   
  
Hermione shook her bushy head. "No," she said, "I don't think so. Normally she would, but I think I can talk McGonagall out of it."   
  
"That's good," Ron nodded and lowered his head to stare at the maroon carpeting. Since they had arrived, he followed Hermione to the common room to check on Ginny. He was really starting to worry about her. When she was little, she'd have tantrums and lock herself in her room all the time. But she had grown out of it once she reached the age of 10.   
  
"Do you know what happened?" Ron asked suddenly, and was disappointed to see Minora shake her head.   
  
"No," she said, looking just as disappointed. "She won't say. All I know is that Professor Lupin called for her during Transfiguration — "   
  
"Harry," Ron said quietly, but Hermione shook her head.   
  
"That was ages ago though," Hermione reasoned. "The Fat Lady said Ginny hadn't been in here for that long."   
  
"So what could've happened to her between that time?" Minora asked, looking from one to the other.   
  
Hermione shook her head thoughtfully and began to burn a hole through the ground with her eyes. Minora, sensing she was in deep thought, slowly lowered herself into a seat, just as Ron had jumped up.   
  
"Ron?" Hermione asked warily.   
  
"Malfoy," Ron said simply, balling his hands up into fists.   
  
"What?" both girls said at the same time, Minora's tone slightly squeakier than Hermione's.   
  
"Malfoy," Ron said louder. "It's got to be him."   
  
"But — how do you know?" asked Minora. "Madam Pomphrey would've sent Ginny back if she had been there for so long — "   
  
But Ron shook his flaming red head. "It's Malfoy," he said with conviction.   
  
"Ron," said Hermione, who watched him like he was a bomb about to go any second, "I don't think — " But Ron had already started out the common room. "Ron!" Hermione yelled after him. "Come back!"   
  
But he had already left.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
_"So he's done it then," Potter's voice echoed in his head. "He's found a way to come back."   
  
"In a way," came Snape's, "he never left."   
  
"Tom was always such a clever boy," Dumbledore had said, the amusement clear in his tone.   
  
"I don't understand," Potter said. "I thought that once you've died... that's it."   
  
"Magic works in mysterious ways," said Dumbledore. "It's quite fascinating, really — to preserve your power and soul inside another, single human being is a wonderful example of ancient magic. See, physically — he's died. But spiritually — he's just as alive as you or me." He chuckled slightly, ice-blue eyes twinkling. "Yes, very clever indeed. I never would've put it past Tom to think up something like that. He was always fascinated with the ancient arts."   
  
"So... What happens now?" asked Potter.   
  
"I think," Dumbledore said slowly, his sharp blue eyes turning ever so slightly towards Draco, "that all we can do now is wait."_   
  
Draco opened his eyes, and allowed them to take in his surroundings. He was hunched over his bed in his flat, which was donned with a variety of the best-tasting liquor London had. He had hoped that Mr. Whiskey — a good, good old friend of his — would've helped clear his mind. Three bottles later, his mind was as full as Granger's would've been before an exam.   
  
He was tired. All he wanted to do was forget.   
  
And yet, with every gulp in hopes to forget, he remembers — each memory getting clearer and clearer. The conversation, the visions — everything. All he wanted to do was forget it all.   
  
_How_ could Voldemort still be alive?   
  
He stared at the shot glass in his hand until his vision focused. He slowly lifted his hand to wipe the side of his mouth, where a small amount of Whiskey had escaped during his sleep. He licked his hand sleepily, hoping to savor the last portion of liquor he had. How happy he was when he had turned 18, and was legal enough to buy his own liquor. Trying to get drunk with butterbeer didn't prove to be quite as fun as Draco had thought it'd be.   
  
In all his rush to get out of Snape's office, he had forgotten to get an antidote to the potion he had drank, so the migraine was still there, although now it was accompanied by a nice thump thanks to his drinking. The thumping intensified and Draco had gotten to the point where he was about to scream when he realized that the thumping was coming from his head — but from his door.   
  
He groaned and shut his eyes tight, willing the person to disappear. The knocking persisted, no matter how hard Draco had wished it away.   
  
"Go away," he shouted at the door, burying his head into his hands.   
  
"Fuck you," said the door, and Draco literally fell off his bed at the sound of the voice.   
  
"Not _you_," he groaned, and pulled his covers over him in hopes to hide himself as the door swung open.   
  
"You'd think someone as bent out on privacy as you would at least _Alhohamora_-proof their locks," Ron said, as he stepped over the lump of blankets that was Draco.   
  
"What do you _want_, Weasley?" Draco whined, wanting nothing more than to be left alone. His lips curled threateningly as Ron pulled his covers off of him. He pulled himself up to glare menacingly at Ron, and was pleased to see that he no longer had to tilt his head up to look Ron in the eye anymore. The redhead still stood taller than Draco, but now not by much.   
  
"What've you done to her?" Ron asked, catching Draco off guard.   
  
"Eh?" Draco said, completely forgetting all composure.   
  
"What," said Ron again, making sure to enunciate each word slowly, "have you done to her?"   
  
"Who her?"   
  
"Ginny," said Ron, completely blowing Draco away.   
  
"What're you talking about?" asked Draco, looking at Ron like he was daft.   
  
But instead of answering, Ron turned to Draco's bed, where empty bottles lay to waste. He shook his head and gave Draco a disgusted look.   
  
"Try to make it all go away, aren't you?" Ron said, giving Draco an uncharacteristic smirk.   
  
Draco snarled. What bothered him more was that Ron had hit it pretty close to home, though he doubted Ron had any idea just what he was trying to make "go away". Ron chuckled dryly.   
  
"Tell me what you've done to her," Ron said, trying to make himself sound as intimidating as possible.   
  
"I haven't done anything to her," Draco answered truthfully.   
  
"My ass," said Ron, who began to ball up his hands into fists. "She's missed her classes, locked herself in her room, hasn't eaten — "   
  
"And naturally," said Draco, loud enough to interrupt Ron, "you think it's _my_ fault."   
  
"Did she go to the Infirmary today or not?" asked Ron.   
  
"Yes," said Draco slowly, and saw Ron twitch slightly.   
  
"What did you _do_?"   
  
"Did it ever occur to you," said Draco, "that I just might be telling the truth?"   
  
"Don't make me laugh," said Ron, irritation quite clear in his tone.   
  
"Oh I wouldn't dare put you through that kind of pain," Draco answered, and turned his back to Ron to look for another bottle.   
  
"Sod it," snapped Ron. "I'm not here for your sarcasm."   
  
"And heaven knows you're not here to clean up," quipped Draco, and dug beneath his pillow to retrieve a fresh bottle of scotch. He screwed up the cap and sniffed it. "Have you ever thought to ask Potter?" he said casually, and began to lick the edges of the bottle.   
  
"What does Harry have to do with anything?" asked Ron suspiciously.   
  
"A lot more than you might think," sneered Draco.   
  
Ron rolled his eyes. "Stop your games."   
  
"Are you not having any fun?" mocked Draco, fluttering his eyelashes at the other man.   
  
Ron fumed. "Tell me what you've done to her you slimy — "   
  
"Yeah, that's right. Insult me," said Draco, "_that_'ll get me to tell you." He rolled his eyes. "Ever stop to think that Ginny's like that because of Potter?"   
  
Ron's upper lip twitched at Draco's use of his sister's first name. Draco grinned fiendishly.   
  
"Harry?" Ron said, and scoffed. "Harry would never hurt — "   
  
"You don't know what Harry's capable of doing," said Draco, swirling around the contents of the bottle he held. "Do you have any idea _why_ Ginny came to the Infirmary — to _me_?"   
  
Draco took the silence as a "yes" and answered his own question,   
  
"She wanted comfort — not like _that_, you prat," Draco added quickly, upon seeing the murderous look on Ron's face. "She wanted someone to talk to. Yes, it surprises me as well that she turns to me, of all people."   
  
Ron scoffed. "You're telling me that Ginny came to _you_ because of something _Harry_ did?"   
  
"Pretty much," Draco answered. "But what Potter did exactly, I don't know. Whatever it is, though, sure pissed the hell out of Ginny."   
  
"Am I supposed to believe your pathetic lie?"   
  
"If by 'lie' you mean 'utmost truth', than yeah." Draco grinned. "It's hard isn't it? To think of _Perfect Potter_ capable of hurting your poor, sweet little sister."   
  
Draco's eyes glistened upon seeing the look on Ron's face — he had struck a nerve.   
  
"That's it, isn't it?" said Draco, understanding now. "He's hurt her before, hasn't he?" Ron refused to answer, but the look in his eyes gave him away. "But being the git Potter is, he probably didn't even know he was. That's just wonderful," smirked Draco. "Your best friend hurting your sister. No wonder she came to me."   
  
"You're disgusting," growled Ron. He had had enough. "You don't care about anyone but you. Not even Ginny, when she worried for you when you weren't well — as nutters as she was for that, she still did it. And you can't even show the least bit of compassion? Do you even know what that means? I bet you don't. Why would a _Malfoy_ know something about that? You're pathetic. Just like your fa — "   
  
He stopped dead for Draco had him pinned to the wall with his wand aimed threateningly at Ron's throat. His whole body shook with suppressed anger and his usual cool gray eyes were livid.   
  
"Say it and I'll do it," he growled, breathing sharply through his mouth, "I've done it before, Weasley, don't make me do it to you." He relaxed his grip on his wand slightly, and uttered a hoarse, "Get out."   
  
"Not until you tell me what you've done to Ginny," said Ron, doing very well in keeping is voice firm. Draco hid a smirk. As much as he hated to admit it, he admired Ron's bravery. Most men wouldn't pursue anything with a wand jammed against their throat.   
  
"I haven't done anything to her," Draco said for the umpteenth time that day. He backed away from Ron and sat down on his bed, retrieving the fallen scotch bottle. "Now — hic — get out."   
  
Ron, while still looking miffed, felt no need to push the drunk Draco any further and quickly made his way out of the flat.   
  
"Blasted Weasleys," Draco cursed, and proceeded to drown himself in scotch.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
_He said she could trust him. He was so sincere about it. She poured out her heart and soul to Tom, thinking he was her friend. He said he was.   
  
He said he would always be there for her. That she didn't have to be alone anymore. That he would be everything she needed.   
  
But he scared her.   
  
She felt him reaching out to her — to her soul. She felt his cold breath inside her lungs, felt him breathe — live — through her.   
  
She tried to make him go away. She felt betrayed. How could he do that to her, she wondered. He said he was her friend.   
  
But he came back. No matter how hard she tried to push him away, he kept coming back. He called to her. She felt that a part of him had never left her, and the thought scared her. She was only 11. 11 year olds are supposed to be afraid of monsters under the bed, not inside themselves.   
  
"Come with me," he told her. He promised to take her away from all of her troubles. From everyone. "It'll just be you and me," he promised.   
  
And she accepted. She wanted to go away. She wanted to be with him. Because underneath it all, he had been her one true friend. She didn't want to lose his friendship.   
  
But he had grown. He was stronger — strong enough to be real. "Come with me," he said again, but she was afraid. He wasn't the same person she knew. He had changed. She didn't like the new Tom.   
  
"Come, Ginny," he said, his voice getting stern.   
  
She tried to run, but he caught her. He took her away.   
  
The chamber was cold, she remembered. She didn't know how long she had been in there, but it felt like a very long time.   
  
He had done something to her — something bad. She couldn't move — she couldn't even feel herself breathing. But she could hear his thoughts. He could hear hers'. She knew she was alive. She knew she was there, without really being there at all.   
  
He hadn't taken away her soul.   
  
"Tom," she'd plead with him. "Tom — please!"   
  
"Foolish child," he said had told her. "No one's going to come for you."   
  
"NO!" she'd scream, but he would just laugh — a cold, unmerciful laugh that had no hint of compassion in it.   
  
"You're all alone now, Ginny," he said. "You'll always be alone."_   
  
"No!" Ginny gasped, and shivered in Hermione's arms. Tears stained Ginny's pale face as Hermione squeezed her tightly. "No," Ginny breathed, suddenly relaxing and falling into Hermione's hug.   
  
Minora's eyes widened to the size of plates, but Hermione remained calm. She rocked Ginny back and forth. Within no time, she had fallen back into a deep sleep.   
  
Hermione held her tightly, fearing what would happen if she let Ginny go.   
  
"Oh, Ginny," Hermione whispered, cradling her gently. "What's happening to you?"   
  
  
_Chapter Nine; Draco charms, Ginny blushes, Ron reveals, Hermione gasps, Dumbledore chuckles and Snape reflects._   
  
  
  
Well this chapter wasn't very eventful, but at least it's something. Many thanks to those who reviewed! You all have no idea how happy you've made me! *-*   
  
**Kasumi:** I love it when people see Draco differently too!  
**wolviesrogue:** Awe, your words have really cheered me up. Draco's still a git, just not to Ginny (or not that much). I tried to make him be one in this chapter, and I hope I did okay. ^^; I'm also sorry that I haven't really explained on the whole Ginny/Harry thing, so I'll try and do that in the next chapter.  
**Robyn:** Thank you! I'm thrilled you like it!  
**JuunanazGurl:** Thanks for reading, and I'm sorry I haven't been able to read your story yet — my life's getting a bit hectic right now, but I'll try and get to it soon, kay? ^^  
**Madussa:** Hugs to you too! I hope the story doesn't get stale as it progresses. ^^;  
**Joya:** My fellow Ferret — I'm sorry to say the leather pants won't be coming back for a while. But I hope the fic's satisfactory without it. XD  
**Angel7895:** Er, I hope I answered your question. Sorry for being a bit vague about it though. ^^;   
  
  
Also, in case anyone's bored or anything, please visit Open To Interpretation () - my highly opinionated Draco fansite for Draco lovers everywhere! I promise not to waste your time (or I'll _try_ not to). ^^; 


	9. My Escape In You

**Chapter Nine: My Escape In You**   
  
  
Draco made a small noise and buried his head underneath his pillows upon hearing his door swing open again.   
  
"Get up Mr. Malfoy."   
  
Draco made no attempt to do so — the only movement he made was from his chest, which rose and fell with his heavy breathing.   
  
Snape scowled at the scene before him. He had been around Draco long enough to know he'd try something like this. It didn't surprise him at all to see Draco spread across his bed, sheets tangled around his limbs, with empty liquor bottles surrounding him.   
  
The scene vaguely reminded him of Lucius — a thought in which he quickly shook out of his head. There was no denying it though; Draco was growing up to look more and more like his father.   
  
Snape held his wand out and uttered a spell, sending a stream of cold, ice water towards Draco. He felt almost sorry for the boy as Draco spat out a string of colorful words, most of which Snape had never even heard of.   
  
Draco snapped his head around to glare at Snape. The look of pure murder on his face made him look even more like Lucius.   
  
"Rough night?" asked Snape airly. He dug inside his robes and held out a tiny red bottle to Draco, who eyed it suspiciously. "It's the remedy for the Pectoralis potion, and this," he added as he held out a blue vial, "is a sobering tonic, brewed just the other night."   
  
"Had a bit of a drink yourself?" inquired Draco, as he chugged one concoction after the other.   
  
"Unlike you, Mr. Malfoy," said Snape a-matter-of-factly, "I know my limits."   
  
"I know my limits," replied Draco, wiping the sides of his mouth off with his wrist. "It just wasn't my first priority then."   
  
"Of course," said Snape. He took a moment to inspect the seat beside him before finally sitting down. "You left in quite a hurry yesterday."   
  
"I had plans," Draco answered simply.   
  
"I can see that," said Snape, eyeing the empty bottles scattered about. Draco followed the Professor's gaze and moaned at his patheticness. He sank back into his bed and held his head in his hands.   
  
"The room is spinning," Draco murmured.   
  
"Yes, that's what happens when you take them as fast as you did," replied Snape irritably. He fixed Draco a piercing look and folded his arms. "Is there something you want to tell me?"   
  
Draco lifted his head up and blinked at the man. _Did_ he? He thought back to his stay in the Infirmary. The main reason he tolerated Pomphrey's constant badgering was to able to talk to Snape.   
  
_Tell him about your dreams!_ screamed the voice in his head.   
  
Draco frowned. Now that he had the chance to speak to the man, he found himself not wanting to say anything.   
  
_Tell him!_   
  
Snape gave Draco an impatient look. Draco sighed in defeat.   
  
"Not a thing."   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"Come on, Ginny," Minora pleaded. She pressed her ear against the wooden door of the Prefects bathroom, in hopes to get a reply from her friend.   
  
Nothing.   
  
"_Ginny_!" Minora shouted, irritation creeping through her skin. "You can't hide away forever, Gin!" No response. She sighed. "Ginny, _please_. Just — just come to Hogsmeade with me, huh? Come on, it's nice and cool outside. You know how much you love autumn. We'll get some of that candy you like so much — the ones that turn your hair blonde. And butterbeer! Remember butterbeer? _Please_ Gin — "   
  
Suddenly — and to Minora's great surprise — the door opened, and a freshly groomed Ginny stepped out.   
  
"Finally," Minora said in relief. But the emotionless look on Ginny's face still worried her.   
  
"I'm only coming so you'll stop nagging me," said Ginny bluntly, and began to walk towards the main Entrance Hall, a disappointed-looking Minora following in tow.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"Penny for your thoughts," said Hermione gently, as she and Ron enjoyed a freshly brewed kettle of tea on a couch in their flat.   
  
"A _what_?" asked Ron, making a face at the foreign word.   
  
Hermione giggled — how easy it was to forget Ron's deprivation of Muggle-related things.   
  
"A penny — Muggle money," she explained, and took a sip of her hot tea and she made herself comfortable against Ron's chest.   
  
"Oh," replied Ron, and asked, "and what's the value of a — a _penny_?"   
  
"Well — not much," said Hermione, and racked her brain for a better way to explain it. No such luck.   
  
"So my thoughts aren't worth much?" asked Ron, sounding indignant.   
  
Hermione giggled again, and gave him a playful jab at the ribs with her elbow.   
  
"It's just a phrase," she told him, and squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I'm just wondering what you're thinking about."   
  
"Oh," Ron said again, and relaxed. "Malfoy."   
  
Hermione choked on her tea. "W-what? You're thinking about _Malfoy_?"   
  
Ron nodded, his chestnut eyes darkening. Hermione glanced up at him warily.   
  
"I think he might like Ginny," said Ron slowly.   
  
Hermione nearly covered herself in tea as she laughed hysterically.   
  
"Malfoy, liking someone? And Ginny, of all people? Wha makes you think a thing like that?"   
  
"I can just tell," Ron explained, and shifted around underneath her.   
  
"You can just tell," Hermione repeated, and shook her bushy head in doubt. "Ron, it took you years to figure out there was something going on between _us_ — suddenly you're Dr. Love?"   
  
Ron frowned. "I was young," he said defensively. "I didn't know any better."   
  
"And now you do?"   
  
"Well I won you, didn't I?" countered Ron.   
  
"Yeah — but from who? _Neville_?" Hermione quipped.   
  
"Yeah, well — Neville'd been working out," pouted Ron. Hermione chuckled and planted a soft kiss on Ron's freckled cheek. She frowned at Ron's troubled expression, and forced herself to be more serious about it.   
  
"You really think he might have something for Gin?" asked Hermione.   
  
"Yeah," said Ron, "I really do."   
  
"I'm surprised you're not barging through his flat to knock him around and tell him to stay away from Ginny," giggled Hermione, and her eyes widened at Ron's guilty look. "Ron, you _didn't_!"   
  
"Not to knock him around," defended Ron. "Just to talk to him. I thought he was the reason that Ginny was like that."   
  
Hermione glared. "When?"   
  
"That one day when we were at Hogwarts."   
  
"I can't believe you," said Hermione. "I thought you just went somewhere to cool off!"   
  
Ron shrugged. "You know me. I just went over to ask what happened to Gin, that's all."   
  
Hermione sighed in exasperation. "And what did he say?"   
  
"Said it wasn't him," sighed Ron. "Said it was Harry. The prat was completely drunk but he was hitting it pretty close."   
  
"Drunk?" pondered Hermione. "What for?"   
  
"Hell if I know," muttered Ron, screwing up his nose upon remembering the intense smell of alcohol in Draco's flat.   
  
"And he told you the reason for Ginny's behavior is Harry?"   
  
"Yeah."   
  
"And you believed him?"   
  
"Well — you have to admit, it's not like it hasn't happened before," argued Ron.   
  
Hermione frowned. She remembered only too well of Ron and Harry's rows when Harry and Ginny had broken up. She always had the feeling that Ron had never really forgiven Harry for hurting Ginny.   
  
"You're not still upset about that, are you?"   
  
Ron sighed. "No. I'm just saying that Malfoy might not be all that wrong. Didn't Harry speak with her earlier that day?"   
  
"Well — yeah, but — "   
  
"See," said Ron, "it could've been him."   
  
"But Ron — _Harry_?"   
  
"The man's not perfect Hermione," scowled Ron.   
  
Hermione winced. "I know that — "   
  
"He's hurt her before — "   
  
"_Ron_," said Hermione loudly, sensing another rant coming. She took hold of Ron's face and forced him to lock eyes with her. "I know," she said gently, and kissed him softly.   
  
Ron sighed. "Sorry — I guess I'm not completely over it."   
  
"Oh, I doubt any of us really are," said Hermione, nestling herself against his chest again. "So you were saying?" asked Hermione, wanting to get Ron's mind off of Harry. "Malfoy and Ginny?"   
  
"Crazy, isn't it?" chuckled Ron softly. "When I realized, I was ready to explode. Of have _him_ explode." He paused. "'Course, he had me at wand point so I couldn't really — "   
  
"Wand point?" asked Hermione, worry clear in her tone.   
  
"Ah — well, we had a few words. One thing led to another — " Ron shook his head. "But that's beside the point."   
  
"And your point is, that from that little encounter you were able to tell Malfoy had feelings for your sister?" asked Hermione doubtfully.   
  
"It's hard to explain, but the way he said her name," said Ron, as his red brows furrowed. "The look on his face."   
  
"He was drunk."   
  
"Even still," said Ron, who began to get irritated with the fact that he couldn't explain it any better. "I know Malfoy — as much as I hate to admit it — and I know the look on his face when he's trying to hide his emotions. Even though he was drunk, he had that look."   
  
"I don't know Ron..."   
  
"I can't really explain it," said Ron, frowning. "Just believe me when I say I know that look."   
  
"But how can you be so sure?" pressed Hermione.   
  
At this, Ron smiled. He kissed Hermione's forehead lightly and whispered, "I had that look not so long ago."   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"Ginny — honey, you look terrible."   
  
Ginny's scowl deepened. "Gee, thanks," she said in a monotone.   
  
"Er — we'll just have the usual, Madam Rosmerta," Minora chuckled uneasily, and proceeded to drag Ginny to a booth in the back before Rosmerta could question them.   
  
"Well this has been fun," said Ginny grouchily.   
  
"Ginny, I'm trying," pleaded Minora, "the least you could do is try too."   
  
Ginny frowned guiltily. She knew what a prat she was being, and sighed.   
  
"I'm sorry, Min," Ginny said, placing her head into her palms. "I've been feeling really out of it lately."   
  
"I noticed," said Minora lightly, and offered Ginny a smile. "I'm your best friend, Gin. You're supposed to talk to me about your problems — that's what I'm here for." She placed her hand on Ginny's shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. "_Use_ me."   
  
Ginny lifted her head slowly and was met with Minora's pleading blue eyes.   
  
"It's nothing, really — "   
  
"Bullocks," said Minora stubbornly, and took a firm hold of Ginny's hands. "You've been having waking up every night, screaming and crying." Her expression darkened. "Are you dreaming about him again?"   
  
Ginny winced. Minora was probably the only person who knew that Ginny dreamt of Tom. She nodded slowly.   
  
"Ginny!" Minora whispered breathlessly, and looked panicked. "If you're dreaming about the Chamber again, you've got to — "   
  
"I'm fine, Min — "   
  
"You are not fine," Minora said firmly. "Something's happening to you, Ginny, and it's not normal."   
  
Ginny scowled and pried Minora's hands off of her's. "Like you care," she said, sounding very irked.   
  
Minora stared at Ginny bewilderedly. "Ginny, of course I care."   
  
"No you don't," said Ginny with conviction. "No one does."   
  
Minora goggled at the redhead. "Ginny, what are you saying — "   
  
"I can take care of myself," Ginny said. She stood up and glared at Minora. "I don't need you — I don't need anyone." She stomped off just as Rosmerta arrived with their butterbeers. She left the Three Broomsticks and wandered around aimlessly, the scowl on her face deepening.   
  
Something has to be terribly wrong before they start to care about her, she thought. Well that's fine. She didn't need them. Better to be alone than to deal with them, right?   
  
She bit her lip. She knew she was wrong, and she mentally cursed herself for being so stupid. Minora was only being a friend, and Ginny — being the prat she is — had thrown it in her face. She knew she had to apologize, and turned to head back towards the Three Broomsticks.   
  
That was probably the first time she had taken a look at her surroundings.   
  
She choked on her breath as her eyes took it all in. She was in a narrow alley, surrounded by towering shops that smelled of mold and decay. Sunlight seemed to be foreign to the alley, as the only light was provided from shop signs, magicked to glow advertisements. The alley itself was busy — wizards and goblins rushed past to enter the shops, all leaving with rather suspicious looking packages.   
  
Ginny swallowed hard. She had somehow wandered into Knockturn Alley.   
  
She felt her limbs weaken as her mother's words echoed through her mind.   
  
_"Knockturn Alley's a bad place — full of the worst kind of wizards and creatures, selling the Dark Arts like they were candy."_   
  
Ginny gasped in fright as a grumpy old witch rushed past her, inadvertently knocking her against a wall.   
  
"Watch it!" the witch barked, and hurried on her way.   
  
Ginny stood frozen against the wall, her heart beating like a hummingbird's wings. She wanted nothing more than to be invisible as people passing by gave her suspicious looks. Her bright red hair stood out so plainly against the alley's blackness.   
  
"Hey baby," simpered a wizard, donned in violet robes as he made he way towards her. Ginny's nose wrinkled upon smelling the strong odor of alcohol in his breath. "What's the matter?" he asked, grinning wide enough for Ginny to see he was missing a tooth. "Lost?"   
  
Ginny went flat against the wall as he moved closer to her. "N-no," Ginny replied, trying her best not to look frightened. Her body quivered as she felt his cold hands graze her chin, and bit her lip in anxiety of what would happen next.   
  
She saw a flash of silver behind the man, and suddenly he was pulled off of her. Her eyes widened upon seeing Draco Malfoy with his back to her as he held the man against the wall opposite her by the collars.   
  
"Franco," said Draco, and though Ginny could not see his face, she highly suspected he was sneering. "That's not how to treat a lady."   
  
"Like you know any better," growled Franco, and tried to pry Draco's grip off of him. But Draco had quite the grip. He chuckled.   
  
"You flatter me, Franco," said Draco, and raised Franco a few feet above the ground, leaving his feet dangling helplessly. "Now apologize to her."   
  
Ginny's eyes — if possible — widened even more as Franco choked out a weak, "S-sorry!"   
  
Draco shrugged and let go of Franco, sending him crumpling to the ground. "Good enough. Now shoo."   
  
Franco sent Draco a murderous look and stalked off, leaving an amused Draco and a startled Ginny.   
  
Draco turned to Ginny, and bent down to retrieve a package he had probably dropped earlier. "What brings you here?" he asked her, smiling faintly.   
  
Ginny swallowed. "I got lost," she muttered.   
  
Draco grinned. "You best be on your way then. Don't want anyone to worry now, do you?"   
  
Ginny scowled. "They wouldn't care."   
  
Draco's brows raised a few centimeters. He looked at Ginny curiously, but her avoidance of his eyes made it clear to him that she did not want to talk about it.   
  
"Even still," he said, placing his hands in his pockets with the package in his arm. "You shouldn't be in here."   
  
"I don't even know _how_ I got in here," Ginny admitted.   
  
"I figured," said Draco and started off down the alley, motioning Ginny to follow him. "Come on, then."   
  
Impulsively, Ginny jogged after him, making sure to stick close so she wouldn't get lost again.   
  
"I tell you," said Draco, "it's a good thing I came here when I did. Otherwise Franco'd've taken care of you."   
  
Ginny gulped upon hearing 'taken care of you'. "What were you doing here anyway? Seems like a rotten place."   
  
Draco grinned. "Diagon Alley doesn't exactly have the best liquor," he said, and Ginny's eyes trailed to the package in his arms.   
  
"You drink?" Ginny asked, frowing slightly.   
  
"Oh yes," said Draco rather cheerfully. "I abhor smoking and doing drugs, so drinking's my only escape."   
  
"What're you trying to escape from?" Ginny inquired. She'd always wondered what would push a person like Draco Malfoy to drink.   
  
"Stuff," Draco answered simply, and turned a corner. Ginny blinked at the sudden sunlight and was welcomed by the relaxing view of Diagon Alley.   
  
"There you go," Draco said, and waited for Ginny to walk away.   
  
She didn't.   
  
"What kind of stuff?" asked Ginny, and Draco's eyes widened slightly.   
  
"Don't you want to find your friends?"   
  
"No," said Ginny simply.   
  
Draco's brows furrowed in puzzlement. "Why not?"   
  
"Reasons."   
  
"Like?"   
  
"Stuff."   
  
Draco chuckled. "Alright then," he said, "I tell, and you tell. Deal?"   
  
"Deal," nodded Ginny, and Draco smiled.   
  
"Come on," he said, and started off down a gravel road.   
  
"Where are we going?" asked Ginny, and jogged after him.   
  
"I know a place," he said simply and offered her a mischievous grin. Ginny looked at him with uncertainty but followed him anyway.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"I don't know, Headmaster," said Snape, as he rubbed the back of his neck uneasily. "Isn't waiting a bit risky?"   
  
"And what do you suggest we do?" asked Dumbledore. He smiled at Fawkes, who had just nestled itself on Dumbledore's lap.   
  
"Surely you must have an idea of who it might be," said Snape.   
  
"An inkling, yes," said Dumbldore, nodding slightly. "But without enough certainty to act upon."   
  
"Who do you think it is, then?" Snape's eyes darkened upon the look Dumbledore had given him. "_Potter_? You think it's Potter?"   
  
Dumbledore chuckled. "You say his name as if it were filth. You're truly one for grudges, aren't you?"   
  
Snape scowled. "Everything happens to that boy."   
  
"Yes," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "But he is not the one I am thinking of."   
  
Snape raised a brow at the older man. "Who is he then?"   
  
Dumbledore smiled, his blue eyes twinkling beneath the half-moon spectacles. He leaned back against his chair to look up at his office's ceiling.   
  
"Not 'he', Severus — _She_."   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"Wow."   
  
Ginny's mouth hung open upon laying eyes on the sight before her. Draco had taken her to a large clearing deep into the forest, where the grass looked soft enough to sleep on and the trees' leaves had not completely fallen off.   
  
"Where did you find this place?" Ginny asked, and followed Draco towards a large tree.   
  
"Sixth year," he said, and sat against the tree. "Took a wrong turn one Hogsmeade trip and winded up here. Been coming here since then."   
  
"It's beautiful," Ginny said, eyes still scanning the place.   
  
"And relaxing," said Draco, and rested on the grass with his head propped up by his folded arms. Ginny shifted uncomfortably. Draco's shirt wasn't fully buttoned, and Ginny had a clear view of his midriff. He apparently had quite the six-pack.   
  
She felt her face heat up and quickly turned her head away.   
  
"So tell me," she head, trying to rid her mind of the image of Draco's abs. "What are you trying to escape?"   
  
"Dreams," Draco answered, his gray eyes tracing the sky. "My past. Some really crappy stuff."   
  
"Dreams?" Ginny said softly, her honey-brown eyes dropping to the grass in front of her. "What are you dreaming of?"   
  
"I don't really know," answered Draco truthfully. "It doesn't really make sense."   
  
"Why did you kill your father?" Ginny asked suddenly, and Draco looked at her.   
  
"Huh?"   
  
"I'd always wanted to know," said Ginny, "I figured now was a good as time as any to ask."   
  
Draco pursed his lips thoughtfully, and directed his gaze back up to the sky. "The Ministry asked me to."   
  
"The Ministry asked you to kill your own father?"   
  
"Well, my father wasn't exactly your ordinary father," said Draco.   
  
"So, what? You just killed him?"   
  
"No, I refused to at first. Honestly, I think I was scared to. I mean, my father had beaten me enough to know that he was a heck of a lot stronger than I was. The Ministry said they'd allow me to use Dark Arts, and not have it used against me. I knew plenty of curses, sure — but nothing drastic enough to kill someone like Lucius Malfoy."   
  
"So, why did you do it?"   
  
"Snape convinced me to. The Ministry needed Lucius Malfoy dead, and I was their only shot. I was the only one father let his guard down on — mostly because he knew I wouldn't dare do anything to cross him, nor could I." He sighed. "That was probably his only mistake. He underestimated his enemies. He didn't even think that they would use his own son against him."   
  
"How did you do it if you didn't know enough Dark magic?"   
  
"Research. And lessons. Believe it or not, but Dumbledore actually knows a lot of Dark magic."   
  
"Dumbledore allowed you to use Dark magic to kill your father? He agreed to it?"   
  
"Hell no. He was the most against it. I was supposed to kill him by force, since no one on the good side knew any Dark magic, and the only one who did — Dumbedore — wouldn't teach me. He came up to me one night and offered to teach me other kinds of magic. Old, ancient magic. I was too weak to know anything serious, so he taught me a simple, burning spell. It sets anything — or anyone, in this case — on fire, and the fire would never end. Nothing would put it out until the person you directed it to, is dead. No counter curse or fire extinguishing spell would work. It'll just keep burning and burning."   
  
"Why did Dumbledore do that? I thought he was against killing your father?"   
  
"Oh he was. The Ministry damn near pissed him off with it. He thought they were cruel and irresponsible for sending a young boy off to kill his own father — and using his own hands too. He had tried to convince me that I didn't have to do it. But he knew as much as I did that it was the only way. So he taught me the spell."   
  
"But — he was your father."   
  
"Only biologically," said Draco. "I mean, sure he gave me everything I wanted, but that was probably it. He never really did anything to classify him as a 'father'."   
  
Ginny frowned. "I'm sorry."   
  
Draco chuckled. "Yeah, so'm I." He turned his head to her with a small grin. "And now it's your turn."   
  
"What was the question?" Ginny asked in embarrassment.   
  
"Why didn't you want to find your friends?"   
  
"Oh." She sighed. "I don't know. I just don't want to deal with them right now. Always asking me what's wrong, pretending like they care."   
  
Draco raised a brow. "They don't care?"   
  
"Oh I'm sure they do," answered Ginny. She sighed again. "I don't know — it just always seems to me that they only show they care when something's wrong. Or when you're in trouble." Her eyes darkened.   
  
"Ah," Draco said knowingly. "This all goes back to Potter, doesn't it?"   
  
"I don't mean to be so angry with him," Ginny admitted. "He's a sweet guy really — "   
  
Draco gagged.   
  
" — but he just drives me insane! We dated for a while, did you know that?"   
  
"Kind of," Draco shrugged. He had heard a little about it during his seventh year, but then he didn't really care.   
  
"Well we did. And I couldn't've been happier. I'd been obsessiving over the guy since I was 10, when I first saw him! But those few months ended up being one of the worst I'd ever had. I'm sure he didn't mean to, but he was always pushing me away. I don't know, maybe he had gotten used to always being with only Hermione and Ron." She shook her head. "He'd never tell me anything. I end up losing sleep worrying about him, knowing there's something he's keeping from me." She sniffed, feeling all the pain rushing back to her. "He kept to himself, too. Hardly showed me any kind of affection. Herminone told me he was just afraid of hurting me." She chuckled dryly. "They didn't even realize he was already hurting me by doing that. Kind of ironic, really." She scowled. "Only when something's wrong with me or I'm in trouble does he ever show he cares. I feel like I have to die first before he'll ever tell me how he really feels!"   
  
Draco frowned. He had no idea Harry was _that_ much of a git.   
  
"Why are you telling _me_ this?" he asked.   
  
"I guess you're the only one I can tell," Ginny admitted. "And you _did_ ask," she added lightly.   
  
Draco laughed. "I guess I did."   
  
"Sorry — is it annoying you?"   
  
"Heck no," said Draco. "There's nothing better than a good Potter-bashing."   
  
"It's kind of odd that out of everyone, you're the only one I can talk to about this," Ginny said thoughtfully, watching as the sunlight began to fade and darkness took it's place.   
  
"It is," agreed Draco. "I guess it works both ways, seeing as I'd never told anyone about that either."   
  
Ginny laughed. "It's funny how we barely even said a word to each other for the six years we were in the same school. And now, all of a sudden, I'm telling you something I've never been able to tell anyone before."   
  
Draco grinned. "Who knew fate had such a sense of humor?"   
  
Ginny smiled, feeling an odd serenity overwhelm her. The two sat in silence, watching as the stars began to brighten, filling the dark void above them.   
  
  
----------   
  
  
_Chapter Ten; The plot thickens as emotions are questioned and a kidnapping occurs! *cue suspenseful music*_   
  
  
The whole "a penny for your thoughts" thing was inspired by another fic, though I'm afraid to say I've forgotten the title. ^^; If anyone knows, please tell me so I can give credit where it's due.   
  
  
This chapter turned out to be longer than I had originally planned. o_o; Hopefully it cleared up some things. Also, I don't think ff.net allows you to put url addresses because it's not showing up. XP Try got-me.net/draco (just add in all the www stuff). ^^; And thank you, once again to my wonderful reviewers!   
  
Wolviesrogue, Joya, HedwigOwl, Robyn Maddison, Elle Deni Minaty, and Kasumi ~ thank you for helping me reach double digits! 


	10. Distressing Damsel

**Chapter Ten: Distressing Damsel**   
  
  
"I'm worried about her," said Hermione sadly. Ron took a firm hold of her hand.   
  
"She's probably fine. Just those teenage mood swings, that's all."   
  
Hermione nodded and continued to prepare dinner. Ron gave her a smile, which quickly disappeared when her back was turned. In truth, Ron didn't believe a word he said. Something was definitely up with Ginny, and it ached that she hadn't come to him yet. When they were younger, Ginny would always run up to Ron and ask him to make the bad things go away. Sure, he'd tease her about it, but he still comforted her in the end. But Ginny was being so inscrutable lately that it was actually scaring him.   
  
He held two pictures in his hand, and stared at them lovingly. One was an old picture, taken in his second year. He, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny were standing just outside the Hogwarts express when his father decided to have one last picture. His eyes trailed over to Ginny, who grinned happily and waved at him.   
  
The other picture was taken earlier this year, before Ginny left for her seventh and final year at Hogwarts. The picture was only of Ginny and Ron, who had his arm around her neck and tousling her hair. Picture Ginny, of course, did not look pleased.   
  
He smiled, suddenly missing her. Because while she was still his baby sister, she was no longer 11. She had grown up a lot, and experienced much more than most people would never want to. The thought brought a frown to Ron's face. Ginny had grown up; she didn't need her big brother to look after her anymore.   
  
He glanced back at the second picture. Eyes taking in the grown woman Ginny had developed into, Ron knew that he had lost her somehow.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
It was just a little after Draco had left Ginny in the Three Broomsticks, though he felt he had been walking down the streets forever. By his fifth block, he had admitted to himself that he had found an unusual solace in the girl that he never knew existed — let alone to someone as screwed up as him.   
  
The thought brought an unnatural grin to Draco's face, and for a moment it scared him. The feeling was gone as quickly as it had appeared, however, because Draco never got scared — at least not over a girl. But it was laughable all the same. To know that he, Draco Malfoy, found comfort in Ginny Weasley. Especially when it had been her brother and his friends that had been such a pain in the bum during his years at Hogwarts.   
  
His grin melted into a mischievous smirk. He'd love to see the look on Ron Weasley's face if he ever found out that his precious little sister had spent an afternoon — _alone_ — with Draco Malfoy. The smirk seemed almost permanent as he turned a corner into Diagon Alley.   
  
"Well look who it is!"   
  
Draco glanced around and saw an old woman advancing towards him from her flower shop. Draco's smirk evaporated upon seeing Madam Rosa's pink and wrinkly face scrunched up into a delighted smile.   
  
"Hello to you too, Rosa," he tried to say, but only managed a small grunt as Rosa pulled him in for a tight hug. She pulled away and frowned at him.   
  
"You haven't been by to visit me in ages," she pouted, and brought her glove-covered hands to her waist. The purple and green dress she wore clashed horribly with the pink from her face.   
  
"Sorry, I've been busy," he said truthfully, and muttered a low, "thank Godric."   
  
Rosa didn't seem to notice and began to flutter her gray lashes his way. Draco involuntarily winced. The old woman was very flirtatious, and while he was obligated to kiss her hand as a sign of respect, he rather hated to make contact with her skin; the feel of her brought shivers down his spine.   
  
"What brings you here?" she asked him.   
  
"I'm off to St. Mungo's," he said with a straight face, and Rosa frowned.   
  
"Oh I'm terribly sorry about your Mother, dear." Her words would've meant a lot more to Draco if she hadn't added a wink at the end, or say it with such a simper.   
  
"Uh huh," Draco said stiffly and forced a smile. "So, as you can see, I've got to be going." He made to move away when Rosa called him back, her face no longer holding a smile.   
  
"Take care of yourself, Draco."   
  
Draco blinked. The old woman's tone lacked it's usual kind and flirtatious atmosphere. Instead it was sharp and stiff. He watched her as she went back to watering the plant in front of her shop. He knew it was ridiculous, but it nearly sounding like she was threatening him.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Dumbledore watched, with a hint of amusement, as Harry began to drum his fingers on the arm of his chair. Since Harry's graduation, he and Harry kept close ties with weekly tea, though today Harry had come to Dumbledore earlier and more tense than he usually did.   
  
"Problems, Harry?"   
  
Harry stopped his drumming, and looked at Dumbledore as if he were just realizing he was in his office. Snapping back into reality, Harry shook his head.   
  
"No sir."   
  
Dumbledore gave him a smile, and began to rearrange the objects on his desk. Harry's finger drumming continued, getting louder and faster by the second.   
  
"Actually — yes," said Harry, finally caving. Dumbledore hid a smile.   
  
"I'm worried about Ginny," Harry admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "These mood swings, they're not like her."   
  
"She's growing up," said Dumbldore, interlacing his long fingers. "I seem to remember you having such mood swings, not so long ago."   
  
Harry smiled weakly. "It's just... weird. I was always able to protect her, you know? But now, it's like she doesn't want me to."   
  
"Perhaps you no longer have to," said Dumbledore wisely, eyeing Harry with his piercing stare.   
  
"Maybe," said Harry thoughtfully. "But... it's hard..."   
  
"Letting go?"   
  
Harry blinked. His eyes locked with Dumledore's and slowly he nodded.   
  
"Yeah... But I don't think I want to let go just yet."   
  
"Ahh, Harry," said Dumbledore, giving the Boy Who Lived a warm smile, "sometimes you just have to."   
  
"So you think I should?"   
  
Dumbledore chuckled, and began to twirl his long beard with his fingers.   
  
"I've no clue."   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Ginny knew how worried she was making her friends. Deep down, she was worried too. She was still dreaming of Tom, but nothing could wipe the smile from her face — the very smile that Draco, of all people, put on her. She kept humming a merry tune as she continued to walk down the street of Hogsmeade, enjoying the silence autumn brought. After their chat, Draco and Ginny headed their separate ways, with Draco saying he had something important to do. Ginny secretly hoped it didn't have anything to deal with the liquor he bought.   
  
The thought of him made Ginny's smile, if possible, grow.   
  
"What is it about you?" she thought aloud, gazing dreamily up at sky. Why did he succeed in cheering her up when all of her friends had failed? They barely knew each other. They barely said more than two sentences to each other when they were both attending Hogwarts. So why was he all she could think about? Draco Malfoy was a git, there was no doubt about it. Is it possible that it was merely just an act?   
  
She frowned suddenly. What if _this_ Draco was an act? But then again, why should she care?   
  
She began to twirl a lock of of hair in her fingers and pursed her lips thoughtfully. Years and years of living with Ron had taught her never to trust a Malfoy. Yet hadn't she just poured out her whole story to him? Perhaps it was his ignorance of her past that made Draco so easy to talk to. He didn't have anything but her own word to hold against her. Not like Ron or Hermione, who were too close to Harry to truly see who had been the victim in that relationship.   
  
And Draco was actually civil to her — nice, even. He couldn't have an ulterior motive. He hadn't planned to meet her in Knockturn Alley, or even bump into her that time in Hogsmeade.   
  
...Right?   
  
She shook her head at the ridiculous idea. What would he get out of what she's told him? Nothing, absolutely nothing. She probably didn't even mean anything to him.   
  
She suddenly found herself frowning. She didn't know which thought saddened her more — that he's using her or that he doesn't really care. She sighed. Why does _she_ even care?   
  
"Hello there," said a kind, old voice, bringing Ginny back from her thoughts. She had been wandering around without thinking again, and somehow managed to get to Diagon Alley. The owner of the voice was kind-looking old lady, wearing a horribly chosen dress, and was currently tending to some shrubberies by her flower shop.   
  
"Hello," replied Ginny, and made to walk away when the woman spoke again.   
  
"Lovely day, isn't it?"   
  
Ginny nodded, glancing up at the gray sky. "Very lovely."   
  
"Yes...," said the woman slowly, peering at Ginny through the corner of her eyes. "You must be Ginny Weasley, am I correct?"   
  
Ginny blinked. "Er, yes," she said, studying the old woman. "Do I... know you?"   
  
The woman laughed, and waved a hand in the air, causing a few dirt particles to soar through the air.   
  
"Heavens no," the woman said, still giggly. "But I know you."   
  
Two red brows shot up from Ginny's face.   
  
"You do?"   
  
The woman nodded, her warm smile suddenly looking very cold. Ginny felt a shiver run down her spine, and suddenly felt very nervous.   
  
"Ginny Weasley," hissed the old woman, though she was beginning to look younger by the second. Her gray hair was rapidly darkening and her wrinkles were smoothing out. Ginny could only widen her eyes as the woman's transformation was completed. She looked like no one Ginny had ever met before. She was tall and pale, with long, raven-black hair.   
  
"Who are you?" she managed to ask.   
  
The woman's blood-red lips were parted into a devilish grin, and her dark eyes twinkled — though not in the same manner Dumbledore's eyes did.   
  
"Call me Rosa."   
  
  
_Chapter Eleven; Letters, screams, and Narcissa Malfoy._   
  
  
----------------------------   
  
  
Ugh! That chapter sucked, and it was SHORT too! *dies* I'm so sorry that I made you guys wait for THIS. *continues to berate herself for 30 minutes* But anyways... The plot's surely thickening now! Or bubbling, at least. But thanks to **Joya**, **kitkat**, **Miss B**, and **la la daaa naa maa** for your great compliments. ^^ Remember that reviews are GREAT motivators! Nudge, nudge. Wink, wink. 


	11. Loss

**Chapter Eleven: Loss**   
  
  
Narcissa Amourje was unarguably the prettiest girl in Bauxbattons. As early as third year, Narcissa had captured many of the male population's eyes. She was in the top of her class, and star Chaser of her Quidditch team. Yes, many people thought she had it made. Even her boyfriend, whom she had met in a summer vacation to London, was perfect. He was wealthy, handsome, and wise. Their engagement was of no surprise to anybody who could plainly see the love and devotion she had for her fiance. Though one would have trouble reading _his_ eyes, inscrutable as they were.   
  
But her life was as perfect as it can get. She married Lucius Malfoy, and within a year they had a beautiful baby boy. Life for Narcissa couldn't possibly get any better.   
  
And it never did.   
  
Because before her son could even reach the age of two, the wizarding world was thrown into chaos. Families were ruined, and her's was no exception. Within their second anniversary did Narcissa realize that Lucius was working for the Dark Lord all along — the very demon who caused her wake up late at night, screaming for the life of her. She begged Lucius to cut all ties he had with Voldemort, but he refused. When she threatened to leave him, he bound her. He threatened her back, promising that he'd harm their child if she'd ever step out of line. But it wasn't just out of pure fear did Narcissa comply. Deep down, she still loved her husband, though she did not know which feeling was stronger.   
  
So for years Narcissa had to step back while Lucius corrupted their child, filling his head with all sorts of morals and values that sent a shiver down Narcissa's spine. It only burned her heart more to find her son, fully grown and speaking like his father. She tried her best to keep some humanity in her son, nurturing and loving him when Lucius was not around.   
  
It was most devastating for Narcissa indeed, when word of her husband's death reached her. She did not mourn for her husband, for it had been long since she had stopped loving him. She felt sympathy for her son, who had to go through his own hell by having to kill his own father. But she knew it was for the best, for Lucius had been planning Draco's death as well. And she knew that it was no one's fault but her's. It was because of her constant attempts to salvage her son's conscience, that she had brought on Draco's death sentence. Because, to Lucius, a son with a soul is faulty. And Lucius Malfoy does not own anything faulty. So the planning began, unbeknownst to Draco, who in turn had plans of his own.   
  
It was a few months after Lucius' death, did Narcissa get admitted into St. Mungo's. Rumors circulated the wizarding world, all saying she had been driven mad from grief. Her family, like many others affected by the Dark Lord, was torn to pieces.   
  
Narcissa Malfoy did not mourn for her dead husband — she mourned for her dead family.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
The hallways of St. Mungo's were always cold. The chilling air did nothing to soothe Draco's mood as he continued down the narrow passageway. He'd always had a strong dislike for hospitals, and this one was no exception. His black clad stuck out vividly against the hospital's white walls and tiles, yet he moved as if he belonged there. But St. Mungo's was one place Draco did not want to belong in.   
  
He forced those thoughts to the back of his head, however, when he turned a corner and found himself in a short hallway that held four doors. He stopped in front of the farthest, and unwillingly began to shiver. He clenched his fists and stuffed them in his pockets, allowing himself a few moments to regain his composure.   
  
It never came.   
  
He began to sweat, setting aside the fact that the hallway must've been below 0. His breaths came out in short and shallow gasps, and he suddenly found himself feeling very young and vulnerable. After taking a long, deep breath, he pushed the door open and walked in.   
  
"Hello Mother," he said, feeling the world around him shatter as Narcissa Malfoy gave him a blank look.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"She's _GONE_?!"   
  
Dumbledore's office, once calm and tranquil, shook under Ron's bellows.   
  
"Ron, calm down," said Hermione, tugging at his sweater to try and get him to sit back down. But Ron Weasley could not be 'calmed down', not when his little sister was kidnapped. He had been mutilating Hermione's bishop in a game of Wizard's Chess when they receieved an urgent message from Dumbledore. Needless to say, Ron was not happy.   
  
"I don't get it," Ron said, pacing through the room, inadvertently stepping over the other occupants' feet. "Ginny — kidnapped? _How_?"   
  
Dumbledore only shook his head solemnly.   
  
"Your guess is as good as mine."   
  
But that wasn't good enough for Ron. He rushed to Dumledore's desk, slamming his hands along the edge to hold himself up.   
  
"There must be _something_!"   
  
Dumbledore, slightly surprised by Ron's determination, blinked. After a few moments, in which Ron realized that he had just yelled at Albus Dumbledore and sat back down, Dumbledore gave Snape a curt nod. Snape stood, and placed an envelope from his pocket down on Dumbledore's desk.   
  
"We received this letter," said Snape, "just moments before you arrived."   
  
Harry, who had been rather quiet throughout the whole meeting, furrowed his brows thoughtfully.   
  
"Did you cast a spell to check who it's from?"   
  
Snape shook his head.   
  
"We haven't even gotten it open yet."   
  
"Why not?" asked Hermione, peering over at the simple white envelope.   
  
"Whoever sent it put some sort of charm on it," Snape explained, frowning. "The only person who can open it is the one it's addressed to."   
  
"And that person is...?" frowned Harry.   
  
Snape glared at him. If Harry was still a student, Snape would've handed him detention right then and there. But instead he answered, a smirk tugging on his lips.   
  
"Draco Malfoy."   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
The pain was unlike anything Draco had ever felt before. Not even when he was seven, and he had fallen into a cage of highly fussy hipogriffs in the Hogsmeade Zoo. He felt a lump fall into his throat, and he suddenly wanted to throw it up.   
  
Narcissa Malfoy sat in her cell like a child, with her ler long, pale legs sticking out of the frilly yellow nightgown she wore. Her face was impassive — completely blank. She only blinked at Draco to acknowledge his presence, then continued to stare into space.   
  
The wall Draco had built around his heart crumbled, and it was all he could do to stop from falling apart right then and there. His bottom lip quavered threateningly, and the grip he had on his robes tightened.   
  
"Mother," he tried again. His voice was shaky and rough due to the lump that still occupied his throat.   
  
Narcissa did not even blink. He shut his eyes tightly. Draco Malfoy did not cry. Not once since he had been taught at a young age that crying only showed a sign of weakness. His cheeks remained dry and tearless, though his heart was in pieces.   
  
"I'm sorry it took me so long since my last visit," he croaked out, eyes still shut. "I went out and got myself a flat in London. It's not very big, but cozy enough. There was an offer to be a teacher's assistant for Professor Snape, so I might do that. It's not official yet, though..." he trailed off, not really knowing what to say. He opened his eyes finally, and saw that Narcissa hadn't even moved at all. The overwhelming feeling overcame him again, but he forced his eyes open. He lowered his head and tore his gaze away.   
  
"Bullocks," he muttered to himself. What was the point? Why did he even bother? She wouldn't say anything, just like all his other visits. Narcissa Malfoy was gone. Her body was still very much alive, but her spirit died along with Lucius.   
  
Draco had killed them both.   
  
"Draco?" came a soft and rusty voice, filling the silence that had settled in.   
  
Draco's head shot up, and he stared at his mother. Narcissa had turned her head to him, her face etched with confusion.   
  
"Mother?" he asked, barely believing it. She had never spoken before.   
  
"Who are you?" she said, worry and panic in her voice.   
  
Draco blinked. His mother was looking at him with a bewildered look. "Draco," he answered, unsure if he should be happy or shocked.   
  
"You're not Draco," Narcissa told him, shaking her head and looking at him with utmost fear in her eyes. Draco's brows furrowed. He opened his mouth to speak but found he had nothing to say.   
  
"Get away from me," she hissed, glaring daggers at her son.   
  
Draco shook his head slowly. "Mother, it's _me_ — Draco!"   
  
"No!" Narcissa screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You're not Draco! Stay away from my son!" she screamed, and turned her head to shout at the empty wall beside him. "Run, Draco! Run away!"   
  
Draco didn't know what to do. She had never been like this in his other visits — she never even talked before. She thought he was a completely different person, and spoke to the wall like it was him. He approached her slowly, looking to comfort her, when she screamed again.   
  
"Stay away from me!" she screeched, curling herself into a ball and sobbing madly. "Stay away from my family!"   
  
"Mother, what — "   
  
"Murderer!" she sobbed, pressing herself against the wall in hopes to get as far away from him as possible. Draco stopped almost immediately, and stared.   
  
"Leave us alone!" she screamed. "Leave my family alone!"   
  
Draco couldn't fathom it. Her words cut through him like a freshly-sharpened dagger, and all he wanted to do right then was disappear. His mother, the only person he ever truly loved, believed he was a murderer. True that he did kill his own father, but he had to. There was no other way around it.   
  
"Mother...," Draco tried again, but Narcissa wouldn't hear of it. She looked away and continued her sobs. Draco could only watch on helplessly. Feeling every form of pain, he dashed out of the room and into the hallway. In his haste, he stumbled over himself and fell. Though he still had the strength, he did not bother to lift himself up. He remained on the freezing floor, hoping to drown himself in the tears that finally came.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
In her cell, Narcissa Malfoy shivered.   
  
"Run, Draco," she whispered, allowing her tears to stream down her cheeks silently. She held herself, digging her nails in so hard that she bled.   
  
"He's so close to you..."   
  
  
  
----------------------   
  
  
  
A/N: Yes, Narcissa is French. At least in this fic, she is. _Amourje_ is a combination of the French words _amour_ and _je_, which mean _love_ and _me_. I think it's pretty fitting, considering her first name is from the word _narcist_ or _narcissism_, which is somebody who is in love with themself. Oh, and I apologize if Draco's a bit of a 'wuss' in this chapter. I wanted to make it a clear point how much Narcissa means to Draco, her being the only loving atmosphere in Draco's troubled childhood. But don't worry, Draco gets pratty in the next chapter.   
  
  
  
Very special thanks to **Joya**, **Miss B/Beth**, **Rym Poe**, and **Robin Madison** for their marvelous reviews. You guys are the driving force behind my determination to finish this fic!   
  
  
  
_Chapter Twelve; In which Harry swallows his pride, Draco is once again drunk, Ginny wakes up in a bedroom, and Dumbledore makes an enormous request._


	12. In Need of Assistance

Being the forgetful person that I am, I forgot to answer someone's question in the last chapter — _Fatum_ is the Latin word for 'Fate'. Now on with the story!   
  
  
**Chapter Twelve: In Need of Assistance**   
  
  
Harry had only been to the Greasy Pub once, which was just a couple of months ago. Sirius brought him over on his 18th birthday to 'celebrate his manhood'. If Harry remembered correctly, he only had about three drinks before completely passing out. Needless to say, he was not in a hurry to return. But Ginny's life may be at stake, so he reluctantly entered.   
  
It certainly looked like someplace Draco would go. Dim, dingy, and dreary — all key essentials of a makeshift Slytherin common room. One would wonder what would ever cause Draco to turn to a place like this, though quite frankly, he didn't care. He snaked his way through the vile customers that inhabited the Pub, and kept his keen, Seeker eyes open for any hint of silver hair.   
  
"What would you like, darling?" simpered a waitress with heavy makeup. Promptly ignoring her, Harry moved towards the bar, where he found who he'd been looking for. Draco was slouching over the bar, with four or five shot glasses scattered around him. One arm was used to support his head, while the other was curled around an empty glass. Draco looked to be sound asleep, with a tiny trickle of drool escaping his mouth.   
  
Harry rolled his eyes and shoved the boy's shoulder, a bit rougher than he really needed to. With a snort, Draco awoke, and glanced around the Pub with a dazed expression. He did a doubletake before his eyes finally rested on Harry, and within an instant, his usual smirk was plastered on his face.   
  
"Didn't know you were a drinker, Potter," said Draco, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.   
  
Harry shot him a cold look, and stuffed his hands in his pocket.   
  
"Shove it, Malfoy, I'm not here for games."   
  
Draco feigned disappointment.   
  
"Aw, and here I was getting my hopes up and everything."   
  
Harry's left eye twitched. He stiffened his back and quickly ignored Draco's comment. He was there for a purpose, and he wouldn't let Draco's wit provoke him.   
  
"Shut up for a second and let me talk, okay?" he snapped, feeling his temper rise with every breath.   
  
Draco's smirk grew, but he didn't say anything. Harry sighed, and mentally prepared himself for what he was about to say. He took a deep breath, wishing for the umpteenth time that someone else could do it for him.   
  
"Any second now," sang Draco, and received another icy glare from Harry. Swallowing his pride, Harry spoke.   
  
"I — well, what I mean to say is... that... You see, we — "   
  
"You woke me up for this?"   
  
"I need your help," Harry said quickly, and winced at Draco's look of surprise. His eyes widened to an unnatural size, and his mouth hung so loosely it was if his jaw was unhinged. Very slightly, the corners of his lips began to twitch, and suddenly he was doubling over in laughter. Harry's eye began to twitch more rapidly as Draco began to pound on the bar.   
  
"S-Say that again!" Draco managed to say. "Y-You!" he choked, and clutched his sides. "_My_ help!"   
  
Harry tried very hard not to lose his temper. He really did. But before he could stop himself, he had Draco by the collar and dangerously close enough for him to see between his teeth. Draco's laughing immediately stopped.   
  
"You know, this is not the best way to ask for help," Draco drawled, eyeing Harry's hand that gripped his shirt collar with a look that said "paws off or I'll behead you".   
  
Harry snarled, then shoved Draco away. Draco, regaining his composure, began to dust his shirt off.   
  
"And what makes you think I'll even consider helping you?" said Draco, and crossed his arms over his chest.   
  
"I'm not asking for me," Harry said stiffly.   
  
Draco cocked his brow, looking semi-interested.   
  
"I figured as much," he said. "You'd've rather died to Voldemort ten times over before coming to me."   
  
For once, Harry actually agreed with him. Draco chuckled.   
  
"So who're you asking for?"   
  
Harry's mood took a turn for the grave, and his green eyes darkened. He looked as if somebody had died, and Draco felt strangley unnerved by it.   
  
"It's Ginny."   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
She awoke with a start. Her heart was pounding against her chest so hard that she felt it would burst. The images had left her mind at once. She could no longer remember just exactly what she had been dreaming about, but she knew it was horrible. The nightmare left her feeling extremely cold and covered in goosebumps.   
  
She shivered at the forgotten memory and tried to rub the sleep from her eyes, when she realized she couldn't. Her hands were behind her back and in the same situation as her feet — binded tightly together with rope.   
  
Panic spread through her veins. It was all coming back to her — Draco, Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, and Rosa. The sudden thought of the age-decreasing woman brought along the horrid memory of being knocked out and dragged...   
  
She had been kidnapped. Panicked, she struggled in her bindings, only making the ropes scrape against her skin and cut her.   
  
She let out a whimper as blood trickled down her hands. Her eyes were welling up in desperate tears, and her breathing quickened. She had just enough sanity to look around her, and realized with a start that she was in a bedroom. A really old bedroom, judging from the state of the furniture, which were all buried under layers of dust. All except the bed, which she was currently sitting on. It bore new and freshly laundered sheets, as if it were made especially for her. That fact seemed to frighten her more, and she tossed around, hoping to at least loosen the ropes around her.   
  
She failed miserably.   
  
That was when Ginny saw it. A door, wide enough to fit both Charlie and Bill, and tall enough for Ron, was placed conveniently in front of the bed.   
  
With a new sense of determination, she brought her knees to her chest, and began to wiggle her arms beneath her to bring them to her front. She managed to do so, though it left her with a sharp, throbbing pain in her left shoulder. But with her hands now in front of her, she was able to crawl off the bed and topple off.   
  
She fell with a loud thud and shriek, creating a cloud of dust to swarm around her. As the dust began to disappear, she set out for the door. She was only a few feet away when the door swung open, surprising her and knocking her down on her bum.   
  
She blinked up at the bright light pouring in, and only then realized just how dark the room had been. It took a while for her eyes to adjust, but when it did, she saw a person — a woman, judging from the outline — standing over her. The woman stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. The room had gone pitch-black again, and Ginny wondered how she ever found her way around.   
  
"Dear, dear," said the woman, her voice smooth and velvety, reminding Ginny oddly of Draco. Though the woman's tone had a higher amount of sarcasm than Draco usually did. The woman raised her hand, and Ginny was able to make out a rough outline of the item she held — a wand. With a flick of it, Ginny was sent flying back to the bed, inadvertently knocking her head on the headboard. Ginny would've sworn if the woman hadn't gagged her, which she did immediately after Ginny had landed.   
  
"The floor is no place for a lady," the woman said sweetly, and though it was dark, Ginny was certain she was sneering.   
  
Ginny followed the woman's dark silhouette move its way across the room, and began to light the candles around the bed. A strong fragrance, which Ginny knew as Jasmine from Herbology, soon filled her nostrils, stinging them slightly.   
  
After having lit the twelfth and last candle, the woman stepped forward, and Ginny was allowed her first real look at her. She was most _definitely_ a woman, Ginny thought, as her eyes took in the woman's curves. Like Ginny, her hair was red, looking almost scarlet. And the dim lighting the candles provided, Ginny was able to make out the bright blue of her eyes, though alongside the crimson of her mane, it looked near purple.   
  
Ginny felt a slight tinge of jealousy within her, though she quickly squashed the feeling after remembering that this woman could very well be her kidnapper. Though in the corner of her mind, a voice spoke up, reminding her that the person who kidnapped her was not this woman, but Rosa.   
  
Still, Ginny thought as she eyed the superior look the woman was giving her, she couldn't be trusted.   
  
"Don't recognize me, do you?" the woman asked, her heavily shaded lips forming a grin.   
  
Ginny felt her head shake in reply.   
  
The woman's grin grew. "I wouldn't've expected you to. I _was_ a year older than you in Hogwarts afterall."   
  
Hogwarts, Ginny thought. She tried very hard to try and remember any other redhead in Hogwarts, but her mind was blank.   
  
The woman made a noise through her nose, and shifted her weight to her other leg.   
  
"Yes, a whole year," the woman continued, stating the fact as if it made the biggest difference in the world. "In Slytherin too, no doubt. But apparently, age and rank are mean nothing, seeing as how you know Draco."   
  
The sudden mentioning of Draco's name did exactly what the woman had wanted, and caused a panicked reaction from Ginny. She squealed and shouted through the thick scarf used to gag her, but the woman feigned ignorance and began to examine her nails.   
  
"I thought it to be very weird indeed," the woman continued, as if Ginny had never interrupted her, "that a person like you would even be associated with Draco."   
  
She stopped looking at her perfectly manicured nails just in time to see Ginny glare at her. She smiled.   
  
"You can just imagine my surprise to see him actually save you from dear Franco," the woman went on, and Ginny was given the honor of being reminded of the dirty scum that tried to feel her when she was in Knockturn Alley.   
  
"It was thoroughly disgusting to see him display such nobility," said the woman, making a face that, for just a split second, made her look less than perfect. "I wanted very much to crush him right then and there."   
  
She paused, and regarded Ginny for a moment before continuing.   
  
"But I knew I couldn't," she explained, looking very disappointed. "We needed him."   
  
A slightly dreamy expression clouded her eyes. She heaved a sigh and turned back to Ginny, and for a moment, she looked almost sympathetic.   
  
But only for a moment.   
  
"Enough about that," she said, a devilish grin plastered across her face. "Now it's time for some fun."   
  
Ginny, having not fully digested what the woman had just told her, could only imagine what the woman's definition for 'fun' would be.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"Why is _he_ here?"   
  
Draco gave Ron a withering look.   
  
"If you'd rather I leave then..."   
  
"Malfoy — stuff it," said Hermione, always the peacemaker, and turned to her roommate. "_You_ need to calm down. You know he has to be here, so set aside the hatred and loathing for a while, okay?"   
  
Ron, going slightly pink around the ears, huffed angrily and folded his arms across his chest. Draco was looking slightly smug when Hermione returned to her seat, and didn't bother to hide it when Dumbledore entered.   
  
"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," said Dumbledore, smiling lightly and taking his seat behind the claw-footed desk. "I'm pleased to see you've come."   
  
Draco inclined his head slightly, though his eyes were hollow and steady.   
  
Dumbledore smiled.   
  
"Mr. Weasley, please take a seat," he said, and Ron dutifully took one, carefully placing himself beside Hermione, who was at Dumbledore's right. He wanted to be as far away from Draco as possible, who sat at the farthest left.   
  
"Now," said Dumbledore, clearing his throat, "on with the business at hand."   
  
He gave a slight wave of the hand towards Harry, who took out a white envelope from his inner robe pocket and placed it on Dumbledore's desk. He turned to Draco expectantly, who only raised a brow in response.   
  
"I'm afraid we're not able to open it," explained Dumbledore.   
  
"So what makes you think _I_ can?" asked Draco, not bothering to hold the derision in his tone back.   
  
Ron and Harry shot him identical glares, but Dumbledore only smiled patiently.   
  
"The charm will only allow you, apparently."   
  
With an encouraging push from Dumbledore, the envelope sailed off his desk and unto Draco's lap. Draco looked at it with what seemed like the longest moment, before finally taking it in his hands and ripping it open. He let the shredded envelope fall to the ground, only paying attention to the letter in his hands.   
  
With a stony expression, he flicked the letter back towards Dumbledore, who caught it with ease. Without even the slightest hesitation, Ron, Hermione, and Harry jumped off their seats and hovered over Dumbledore's shoulder as he began to read.   
  
_Dearest Draco,   
  
We've taken your precious Gryffindor. If you wish to see her again, follow the map behind this letter. You need not worry about her safety — she is in good hands. We will not harm her, not if you follow your instructions obediently.   
  
First, you will politely decline Snape's invitation to being his teacher's aid. Next, you will write your will — yes, a will — and a letter of farewell. Then, you'll need to go to the plotted point in the map. Do not Apparete. Go alone, and make sure no one sees you.   
  
We will be expecting you.   
  
With Love,  
Blaise_   
  
At the bottom of the letter was a scarlet lip print, and a tiny sketch of a heart.   
  
Dumbledore folded the letter calmly and turned to Draco, who was sitting with his arms over his chest and staring blankly at Fawkes.   
  
"That b- " Ron began, but was stopped by Hermione's elbow before ever finishing. He was glowering now, with steam practically shooting from his red ears.   
  
"Why Ginny?" Hermione wondered. When no one answered, she switched tactics. "What would they want with Draco?"   
  
"And who's 'they'?" asked Harry, looking equally pensive. Ron was too busy shooting death glares at Draco to notice.   
  
Dumbledore seemed to be highly amused in his own thoughts, and began to beat his fingers on his desk gently. He was looking at Draco thoughtfully, who still hadn't taken his eyes away from Fawkes.   
  
"It seems we're in a bit of a predicament, Mr. Malfoy," said Dumbledore loudly, breaking the trio's concentration.   
  
Slowly, Draco turned to the old Headmaster.   
  
"So it does."   
  
Dumbledore smiled.   
  
"How do you wish to go about this?"   
  
Draco blinked, though not in a bemused sort of way.   
  
"How do you mean?"   
  
"This Blaise expects you, and only you," Dumbledore explained, his patience not dissolving.   
  
"Are you suggesting I actually follow this b- " Hermione was too far away to elbow him, so they were all subject to hear Draco's colorful choice of words, " -itch's orders?"   
  
Hermione was looking scandalous, though nothing tore the smile from Dumbledore's face. He looked highly amused.   
  
"Yes, that is what I'm suggesting."   
  
Draco snorted, and turned back to Fawkes.   
  
"She's bluffing. I know her — she wouldn't harm Ginny."   
  
"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Mr. Malfoy," said Dumbledore, heaving a heavy sigh, "but I'm afraid that Blaise is not who you should be worried about."   
  
Draco didn't move, though his eye twitched in the slightest of ways — any other man other than Dumbledore wouldn't've noticed it.   
  
"Forget him," said Ron suddenly. "He can bloody well rot here if he likes, but _I'm_ going to get my sister."   
  
"Lovely of you to say that, Mr. Weasley, for I think it best that you accompany him."   
  
"What?" asked Harry, before anybody else to voice it out.   
  
"You too, Harry."   
  
Four sets of eyes bulged out, and Dumbledore's twinkled.   
  
"You can't be serious — "   
  
"There is no _way_ I'm going with him — "   
  
"Surely, you must be mistaken, Professor — "   
  
"Are you out of your mind?!"   
  
"I am very well into my mind, Mr. Malfoy," said Dumbledore, brushing an imaginary lint off of his purple robes. "Use your Invisibility Cloak Harry — it should be able to cover both you and Ron."   
  
No one moved, only continuing to regard Dumbledore with the torn looks of shock and revulsion.   
  
"I suggest to do so as soon as possible," said Dumbledore lightly. "It will take quite a while to travel to this plot without Apparating."   
  
Hermione, finally being able to swallow her shock, asked weakly,   
  
"Where _is_ the place, Professor?"   
  
At this, Dumbledore's eyes darkened, his face looking old and weary.   
  
"The Riddle House."   
  
  
  
---------------------   
  
  
  
Once again, a special thanks to my wonderful reviewers!  
**Joya:** Fear not, the leather pants _are_ coming!  
**Robyn Maddison:** I have no idea what you just said, but I can kind of make it out. I'm really glad you like this fic, and I hope it doesn't disappoint you. o_o;  
**Howler:** I hope the update was soon enough. And thank you!  
**SamiJo:** Thank you so very much!  
**Beth:** Is this the same 'Beth' that's been reviewing before? o_Oa But anyways, I can't say. You'll just have to read and find out for yourself. ;D  
**August:** Thank you! Ego-boosting reviews are always my favorite! lol.  
**Miss Malfoy:** *gasp* No way! You did _not_ just say my fic was the best of all Draco/whoever fics! O_O! If _that_'s not an ego-boost, I don't know what is! *hugs*   
  
  
  
_Chapter Thirteen; flashbacks, virginity, magic mirrors, and the Riddle House._


	13. Reluctance

**Chapter Thirteen: Reluctance**   
  
  
"You're stepping on my foot!"   
  
"You stepped on mine first!"   
  
"Will you two shut your sodding faces?" Draco hissed over his shoulder.   
  
It was a little over an hour before the three set out to Little Hangleton, and silence was not one of Ron's strong suits. Draco had been subject to listening to Ron's griping since they left Hogwarts, and he was rather surprised at how well he was handling it. He honestly didn't think he had that much patience.   
  
A huffing noise could be heard from somewhere to his right, and Ron grumbled, "I don't see why we have to wear this sodding Cloak."   
  
"Aside from the fact that your life depends on it?" quipped Draco, his patience fading.   
  
"Yeah, but _now_? We've barely made it to Little Hangleton!"   
  
"We can't risk it, Ron," came Harry's voice, hovering somewhere behind Draco's left shoulder. Scuffing noises could be heard as Ron neglected to pick up his feet.   
  
"Where is this place anyway?" he asked, obviously pouting from the tone of his voice.   
  
Harry began to answer, but Draco had tuned them out. He had been pondering over the reason for Ginny's capture for over an hour now, and he still has no clue. The only logical thing he could think of was Ginny being used as bait for Harry. Blaise was undoubtedly very ticked off about Harry's defeat of the Dark Lord, seeing as how her family had taken the biggest blow. Both her parents were put into Azkaban, leaving Blaise with little to no money.   
  
But if that was true, why did she write to Draco? Was it possible that she had wanted to lure _him_ instead of Harry? But it was ridiculous. She could've gotten Draco as easily as she entered his flat. She didn't need to bring Ginny into anything.   
  
And if that was her plan, how did she know to use Ginny against him? Had she been watching them when they were in Knockturn Alley?   
  
He fumbled with the letter he held in his hands. It certainly raised more questions than answered them.   
  
" — fuck!"   
  
Harry's sudden use of obscenity brought Draco back to the present. He stopped and turned to face the two — which proved to be difficult as they were invisible.   
  
"What now, Potter?" Draco drawled, raising a bored brow towards a tree to his left.   
  
"The Cloak's torn," said Harry sadly, his voice coming from Draco's right. Slowly, Harry pulled the Cloak off of his hands to show the lengthy slit, which was probably torn from one of the rocks on the road. Harry's floating fingers lovingly caressed the tear, and Draco's mind was suddenly pulled into an old memory.   
  
_It was late in October of his seventh year when he was told to go to the Headmaster's office. He had been there for nearly an hour, and he found no sign of Harry's arrival anytime soon. Feeling extremely bored and frustrated, he engrossed himself in watching Dumbledore's phoenix, which was busy preening it's fiery feathers. He had learned about phoenixes from his father's books. He knew of their healing powers, and their gift of rebirth. Though some would argue that they are immortal, Draco knew better. Phoenixes do die. When they are reborn, their memories and spirit are transferred into the new bird, who in turn use them to prosper into a new and better bird.   
  
Fawkes was finished with his grooming, and was now fixing a steady stare on Draco. His large yellow eyes watched Draco intently, not once blinking.   
  
Slowly, Draco extended his left arm, hovering it slightly in the air in front of the phoenix, who watched it cautiously. After giving it an examining sniff, Fawkes relaxed, allowing Draco to gently stroke the back of his head.   
  
A calm smile appeared on Draco's lips as he watched Fawkes' eyes droop in serenity. His fingers tingled at the heat radiating from the phoenix's feathers.   
Quite suddenly, Fawkes' eyes snapped open and he craned his neck to look around the office. Draco withdrew his hand and glanced around as well, though there was nothing there beside the open door.   
  
"There's nothing there," he told the phoenix, but Fawkes couldn't be corrected. Lowering his head slightly, Fawkes fixed an icy glare at the corner of Dumbledore's desk.   
  
Draco followed his gaze and was surprised to see Harry sitting on it. He had definitely not been there before.   
  
"Potter, what — " Draco began, then his eyes dropped to the silver lump in Harry's hands and he stopped.   
  
"An Invisibility Cloak," said Draco, slightly impressed. They were very rare.   
  
Harry nodded curtly. He unraveled the liquid-like material, and, as if to prove it's authencity, threw it over himself, immediately blending in to his surroundings.   
  
"Spiffy," replied Draco, sounding very bored.   
  
Harry grunted and pulled the Cloak off of himself. With a glare worse than Fawkes, Harry threw the Cloak on Draco's lap, where Draco looked at it curiously.   
  
"What? For me?" asked Draco in mock awe.   
  
Harry snorted and folded his arms across his chest.   
  
"Dumbledore said it could help you," he explained, looking very much against his having to lend Draco his Cloak.   
  
"I doubt it would fool Father," said Draco slowly. He held the material in his hands, feeling it slip through as if it were water or oil. "He's got a bunch of counter spells against these kind of things. Not a big fan of surprises, you see."   
  
Harry pulled a face.   
  
"Just don't ruin it," he said through gritted teeth.   
  
Draco gave him a raised brow, and held the Cloak tauntingly over one of the lit candles on Dumbledore's desk. Murder was clear in his bright green eyes as Harry dashed to Draco's side, practically foaming at the mouth.   
  
"DON'T," snarled Harry, giving Draco a malicious look.   
  
Surprised, Draco recoiled his hands, and held the Cloak protectively against his chest.   
  
"Geez, what's eating you?"   
  
Harry turned to stare at Fawkes and didn't answer. His lack of reply sparked an intrest in Draco, and he grinned.   
  
"Don't want to talk about it, do you?" he egged, hoping to strike a nerve.   
  
When Harry didn't answer again, Draco's grin grew.   
  
"Must be very special to you," he continued, examining the Cloak. "Wouldn't want to ruin it or anything. Though accidents DO happen."   
  
Harry shot him a look, raising the hair behind Draco's neck.   
  
"Interesting," said Draco slowly. He was thinking up a good taunt when Harry finally spoke.   
  
"It's my dad's," he said, eyes not leaving Fawkes'.   
  
Intrigued, Draco waited for him to continue.   
  
Surprisingly, he did.   
  
"Practically the only thing I have from him," explained Harry. The cold look had immediately vanished from his face, instead looking distant. He suddenly turned to Draco, his green eyes set.   
  
"I know you couldn't care less about this," he said, surprising Draco. "But it means a lot to me."   
  
There was a long silence, in which Draco fought very hard to keep his face blank.   
  
"You don't have to worry about your precious Cloak, Potter," Draco said finally.   
  
Nodding slightly, Harry turned back to Fawkes, looking far off once again. Draco looked down at the cherished Cloak he held in his hands, and resisted the urge to tighten his grip around it.   
  
The only thing he ever really got from his father was his looks._   
  
Ron's voice echoed in Draco's head, knocking him out of his daze.   
  
"Don't worry, Harry," comforted Ron, "I'm sure Hermione can fix it."   
  
"Yeah," came Harry's voice, though low and dismal. Draco heard what was unmistakenably a stiffled sniffle.   
  
"It's just a Cloak — get over it," said Draco, though his tone was not as harsh as he intented it to be. Very quickly, he turned and continued down the path, eventually hearing the soft crunch of the two men's feet against the gravel following after him.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
Ginny's eyes, though beginning to sting from the Jasmine fragrance floating around in the air, never left the woman, who had been examining her nails for what felt like half an hour. Just as she felt she could bear the silence no more, the woman spoke, her voice sounding very friendly.   
  
"Are you a virgin?" she asked, innocently leaning forward in wait of Ginny's answer.   
  
Ginny nearly choked. It had been a long while since the woman had removed the scarf around her mouth, and Ginny was suddenly wishing she was gagged again.   
  
"W-What?" Ginny sputtered, eyes wide from shock.   
  
"A virgin," said the woman. "You know, someone who hasn't — "   
  
"I know what a virgin is!" said Ginny quickly, not wishing to hear the woman's version.   
  
"Well, are you?"   
  
Ginny couldn't believe it. This woman _kidnapped_ her, and now had the nerve to butt into her personal life? If her hands were untied, she'd've already slapped the woman twice.   
  
Ginny's lack of response urged the woman to heave a heavy sigh and lean back against her armchair (which she had conjured a few minutes before).   
  
"Fine," said the woman, surrendering. "I can see you're going to be difficult about this."   
  
Tossing her red hair to the side, she held out a lavishly beaded hand towards Ginny.   
  
"I'm Blaise Zabini."   
  
Ginny gave Blaise a dry look. Blaise blinked, and only then realized that Ginny's hands were still tied. Giggling in her embarrassment, Blaise magicked the ropes away, though Ginny still didn't take her hand.   
  
"Alright," said Blaise, withdrawing her hand slowly. "Seeing as how you know me now, you can answer my question."   
  
Ginny's mouth didn't even twitch. Looking irritated, Blaise pointed her want at the girl threateningly.   
  
"Answer me," she ordered, her friendliness suddenly gone.   
  
Then Ginny did something she hadn't done since she was very young, and blew a raspberry. Blaise's violet eyes widened with fury, and she thrust her wand towards an unsuspecting spider that was crawling up the wall behind Ginny.   
  
"_Crucio_!" Blaise shrieked, and the spider fell unto Ginny's lap and began to jerk in pain. Ginny watched, horror-struck, as it's eight legs began to twist and turn unnaturally.   
  
"Stop!" Ginny pleaded, unable to bear it anymore. "Yes!" Ginny shouted, defeated. "I'm a virgin!"   
  
Blaise withdrew her wand smugly.   
  
"Lovely," said Blaise, leaning back against her chair. "I expected as much."   
  
Ginny slumped against the bed's headboard, suddenly feeling very tired. She wanted it all to stop. But Blaise had different plans.   
  
"If you were to have sex with someone, who would you want it to be?" she said in the same casual air as someone would with asking the time.   
  
Ginny gaped at the woman.   
  
"W-What?!"   
  
"Hypothetically," said Blaise, waving a manicured hand in the air, "if you could choose. Who would you lose your virginity to?"   
  
Ginny stuttered, shocked and disturbed by the woman's bluntness.   
  
"I'll make it easier for you," said Blaise impatiently. "Draco or Potter?"   
  
Now Ginny was even more bothered.   
  
"Wha — I — _never_ — "   
  
"You'd better have an intelligible answer soon," drawled Blaise, waving her wand threateningly.   
  
Ginny bit her lip. How was she supposed to answer _that_?   
  
"I guess...," she struggled, "Harry?"   
  
Blaise's penciled eyebrows shot up in surprise.   
  
"Really?"   
  
"Yes," said Ginny, though her answer was troubling her.   
  
"Well," said Blaise, looking highly amused, "that's very interesting."   
  
Ginny gave her a brief wry smile, then went back to scowling at the bedspread. Something about her answer was bothering her, yet she had yet to know why. But before she could think any more on it, Blaise was back to her nosy self.   
  
"What about with children? Whose children would you want to have?"   
  
Ginny glared at Blaise, but she could not be dissuaded. Knowing very well that Blaise would not let her alone, Ginny answered.   
  
"Draco's," she said, and immediately blinked. That wasn't who she meant to say... Or was it?   
  
Blaise began to titter, reminding Ginny of nails against a chalkboard.   
  
"_Very_ interesting!" she giggled, making Ginny's eye twitch irritably.   
  
"What do you want with me?" Ginny asked, feeling like she'd had enough.   
  
Blaise's laughter immediately stopped, and her face held nothing but seriousness.   
  
"Uh uh, little girl," said Blaise, waving a forefinger at Ginny like she was 5 years old. "_I_ ask the questions around here."   
  
Ginny gritted her teeth, wishing she was just a bit stronger so she could strangle the woman. Suddenly the door burst open, flooding the dim room with such bright light that Ginny had to turn away.   
  
A large man, just big enough to squeeze through, dashed to Blaise's side and whispered something in her ear.   
  
"He's here?" Blaise said in surprise. The large man nodded.   
  
"Perfect," said Blaise, mad glee all over her face. She sent Ginny an appraising look before turning back to the man.   
  
"Have Rosa keep an eye on her," she ordered, jerking her head towards Ginny.   
  
The man nodded and left the room in a run, inadvertently causing the floor to shake. Blaise took a few steps towards Ginny, her face split into a devilish grin.   
  
"He's actually come for you," said Blaise, sounding impressed. "Stupid git must care a lot about you."   
  
With that, she turned her heel and left, her long red hair trailing after her. Ginny's brows knitted together in confusion as she weighed the woman's words. When she spoke, shock and disbelief were clear in her tone.   
  
"Draco?"   
  
  


* * *

  
  
"We're here."   
  
The Riddle House was nothing like Draco had imagined. His father spoke very highly of the mansion, and Draco always pictured it to look a big as Hogwarts. But what he saw in front of him was not a Hogwarts. It was barely a Malfoy Manor.   
  
It was unarguably the largest mansion for miles around, though glancing at it, you'd never think it so. Most of the windows were boarded, tiles were missing from its roof, paint was peeling from it's walls, and plant life was rapidly swallowing it whole.   
  
"_That_'s Voldemort's house?" said Ron, still under the Cloak and no longer afraid of saying the Dark Lord's name. He made a low whistling sound.   
  
"No wonder he turned out crappy."   
  
"That's funny, coming from _you_," quipped Draco, unable to control himself.   
  
There was a scuffle of movement around him, and he moved to dodge the upcoming attack. This proved to be pointless, however, as Draco could not see them, and he soon enough felt the quick, sharp pain of Ron's boot meeting with his shin.   
  
"Ow! Sodding piece of...!" he yelped, hopping up and down on one foot while grasping his other.   
  
"That's enough," Harry whispered harshly, and Draco heard the slight "oof!" from Ron as Harry undoubtedly elbowed him.   
  
"From now on — total silence."   
  
"Good idea, for once," said Draco griped, and began to limp towards the rotting mansion.   
  
Harry and Ron followed suit, knowing with full confidence that they could not be detected.   
  
  


* * *

  
  
In one of the house's rooms, Blaise grinned.   
  
"Wonderful," she said, a mad glint in her eyes. She stood alone in front of a large oval mirror that hung front the wall. The glow from the mirror illuminated the candle-less room, adding shimmer to Blaise's fiery hair. She watched, almost eagerly, as Draco's image was reflected in the mirror, showing him as he was, about to knock on the house's door. What she was looking at, however, was not Draco, but the two men 'hidden' under an Invisibility Cloak behind him.   
  
Already savoring the sweet taste of victory, she grinned, and narrowed her glare at the mobile bodies of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley.   
  
"Master will be pleased..."   
  
  
  
-----------------------------------------   
  
  
  
Reviewers rock; they just do.  
**Joya**,**Robin**, **Wolviesrogue**, and **Beth**.  
I hope this chapter was okay. ^^;;;   
  
  
  
_Chapter Fourteen; Rosa, bugs, and Gregory Goyle._


	14. Fears and Revelations

**Chapter Fourteen: Fears and Revelations**   
  
  
  
Ginny's eyes were never filled with so much hatred as Rosa entered the bedroom, raven-black hair melting in with the darkness. She stood a few feet away from the bed, eyeing Ginny with a cocked brow. Ginny's eyes followed Rosa as she took the seat Blaise was on, not even daring to let her guard down again.   
  
  
Rosa looked amused at Ginny's seriousness.   
  
  
"There's no need to glare daggers," said Rosa, chuckling slightly. Ginny involuntarily shivered — the woman's voice was as sharp and piercing as a knife.   
  
  
"Relax," Rosa continued, and made herself comfortable. "I won't hurt you."   
  
  
Ginny made a derisive snort, causing a foreign look to pass through Rosa's hollow eyes. She quickly loosened, however, and began to rake her hair with her pale fingers. Rosa looked to be as tall as Ron, especially with those three-inch heels she wore.   
  
  
Ginny bit back another snort. While Rosa was indeed a gorgeous woman, her taste in fashion was definitely off. She wore a tight, black top, a blood-red leather miniskirt with matching jacket, and fishnet stockings. What made Ginny want to laugh the most was her bright red pumps. She could barely remember when her own mother wore pumps. All in all, her outfit reminded Ginny of those women who'd stand around late at night in the Muggle streets. Though it was a bit of an improvement from the purple/green disaster she wore before.   
  
  
Ginny's brows furrowed upon remembering the woman's odd transformation. In all her years in Transfiguration, she never remembered McGonagall ever mentioning the ability to transfigure into another humans. She had heard of the Polyjuice Potion — though the change would be involuntary. Rosa seemed to be _controlling_ the transformation.   
  
  
"What _are_ you?" asked Ginny, unable to bury her curiosity.   
  
  
Rosa's left brow quirked up slightly, before a full-blown grin spread through her lips.   
  
  
"You don't know?" she asked, her voice sounding slightly menacing.   
  
  
Ginny shook her head. Rosa chuckled.   
  
  
"You've read about my kind in your fifth year. I should know — I went to Hogwarts. Though it _has_ been 50 years since I'd graduated but — "   
  
  
"_Fifty_ years?" Ginny blurted out, disbelieving.   
  
  
Rosa nodded, apparently amused at Ginny's shock.   
  
  
"I hardly look above 30, don't I?" asked Rosa, and chuckled as Ginny nodded numbly. "Call it a perk."   
  
  
Ginny didn't understand. "A perk?"   
  
  
"Of my abilities," answered Rosa, twirling a lock of hair in her fingers. "Think back to your fifth year. Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Chapter 12."   
  
  
Ginny frowned. She could hardly remember what she had for breakfast, if she had any at all. How was she supposed to remember what she read in her fifth year?   
  
  
She rummaged through the farthest corner of her brain, trying to remember anything about her fifth year. They had a female Professor back then — a Professor F... F something. She remembered reading through the book, and doing extensive essays on all of the creatures they'd learned about. She remembered a particularly ghastly one on vampires and shape-shifters —   
  
  
It was like someone had dropped cold water down her back. Rosa was a shape-shifter! Ginny would've slapped herself if she could. Why hadn't she realized it before? She'd spent _weeks_ on that essay, pulling all sorts of all-nighters to review the load of information she'd acquired. It was no wonder Rosa looked so young — shape-shifters were able to modify their appearances to their convenience.   
  
  
Ginny's understanding must've shown through her face for Rosa was suddenly nodding.   
  
  
"Yes," said Rosa, a bitter look on her wrinkle-free face. "The kids were particularly rude about it, saying all sorts of nasty things about us shape-shifters. Granted, they had no idea that I was one. But neither did I til I was 17..."   
  
  
A sudden, vengeful smile appeared on Rosa's face as she became nostalgic.   
  
  
"What a wonderful time that was," she said, looking dreamy. "No more buck-toothed, pimply Rosa Effemral. Oh no," she grinned, "no, that year, all of the boys wanted me. And who could blame them?"   
  
  
Ginny was suddenly starting to feel very nauseated.   
  
  
"I was perfect," continued Rosa. "I had it all, and in the right places too."   
  
  
Now Ginny was positive she'd be sick. Fortunately, Rosa's nostalgia was finished, and she was now looking at Ginny with interest.   
  
  
"Though you're not so bad yourself," said Rosa, causing Ginny's nose to wrinkle.   
  
  
"Yet too simple for Draco's taste," she said, pricking Ginny's nerves.   
  
  
"What do _you_ know about Draco?" sounded Ginny, speaking up for the first time.   
  
  
Rosa chuckled, and leaned forward in her chair to whisper,   
  
  
"I know _plenty_."   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Getting to the front door wasn't as easy as Draco thought it'd be. The pathway meant to lead visitors to the house was thoroughly covered with rocks, weeds, and insects of the huge variety. He was greatly thankful that Ron and Harry were stationed behind him, for the face he made upon seeing the insects would not be one he'd want them to see. Bugs were not one of his most favorite of animals, and he would literally go to pieces if one ever grazed his skin — again, not something he'd want the duo to witness.   
  
  
With great energy, he fought back the urge to shiver, as a particularly large and squishy centipede began to crawl sluggishly across his path.   
  
  
It was at that time, that he felt a rough poke in his shoulder blade.   
  
  
"What're you waiting for?" hissed Ron, apparently unaware of the many-legged beast that had yet to reach its destination.   
  
  
"Sod off, Weasley," said Draco in a low voice, his wide gray eyes keeping rapt attention on the centipede.   
  
  
"Malfoy — you're sweating," observed Harry, in the same low voice Ron had used.   
  
  
Draco would've rolled his eyes if he dared to take them off the centipede.   
  
  
"How nice of you to notice, Potter."   
  
  
"It's October," said Harry. "Why're you sweating in October?"   
  
  
"It's all that black silk," huffed Ron, undoubtedly shaking his head. "Silk does not breathe."   
  
  
"Though you'd never know, would you?" Draco had wanted to say, but feared what would happen if he opened his mouth; the centipede was dangerously close to his foot. He watched with fear as the centipedes vulgar antennas (did centipedes have antennas? Draco never bothered to care) grazed across his expensive boots. This time he could not help but shudder.   
  
  
"What's up with you?" asked Ron, not having missed the movement of Draco's shoulders.   
  
  
"What're you looking at?" said Harry, and Draco could vaguely hear him move to his side.   
  
  
"I don't believe it," said Harry, close to laughter.   
  
  
"Shut up, Potter — " Draco had warned, but Harry was already in a fit of giggles.   
  
  
"You're scared of a teeny bug!" squeaked Harry, and now Ron had joined him in the laughter.   
  
  
"If you _must_ know, Potter," said Draco heavily, inching ever-so slowly away from the said bug, "this is not a _teeny_ bug — this is a beast!"   
  
  
But Harry and Ron could not get over their fit. Draco heaved a sigh. Of course they would not understand — _they_ didn't have to spend nights locked up in a box filled with nothing but large insects to keep you company. Ron suddenly began to snort, and Draco felt all his patience leave him.   
  
  
"I wouldn't be so haughty, Weasley. I hear autumn's the perfect time for _spiders_ to reproduce*."   
  
  
Ron stopped his laughing in an instant, and Harry choked on his. Draco had no way of knowing, but he was certain Ron's ears were now as red as his hair. He allowed himself to smirk.   
  
  
"Who told him about the spiders thing?" Ron hissed angrily to Harry, who immediately began to stutter his denial.   
  
  
Draco tuned them out. His whole attention was not set on the situation at hand, which was now thankfully back on its merry way away from him.   
  
  
He scanned the pathway. It was about 27 inches in width, and 10 meters in length. It consisted of 5 blocks, each 2 meters long. In the cracks sprouted an amazing amount of plant life, with each stalk inhabited by clans and clans of insects.   
  
  
Draco was not at all pleased.   
  
  
"Geez, Malfoy, just walk over them!"   
  
  
"I thought you were supposed to be quiet?" Draco snarled, apparently very touchy about the bug situation. He put himself in his mind, brainstorming of ways to avoid the creatures.   
  
  
"At least there aren't any draconis," Draco absentmindedly muttered aloud.   
  
  
"Draconis?" repeated Harry, and Draco mentally kicked himself. "What's that?"   
  
  
"That's a type of bug, isn't it?" piped up Ron. "They're kinda like those Muggle leeches you have, except about ten times worse and fifty times bigger. They suck your blood, alright — but draconii don't stop there. They're horrible little things, sucking up your very soul. I even heard they'd make you lose your mind too. Think leeches with a dash of Dementor."   
  
  
Draco could just imagine Harry shudder upon the mentioning of a Dementor.   
  
  
"But they're supposed to be very rare," continued Ron. "How'd'you know about them?"   
  
  
Draco only shrugged.   
  
  
"Father had connections," he said simply. Leaving the two boys to put two and two together, Draco went back to his scheming. This was in vain, however, for he found no way to avoid the encounter. He was thoroughly ashamed — seven years as a Slytherin, and not one plan.   
  
  
"Your father used draconii on you?" Harry said suddenly, disbelief dripping in his tone. "_Why_?"   
  
  
"Apparently, a soul is a defect. He found it funny how appropriately named it was," he said casually, as if sending such deadly creatures to your son was as normal as having tea.   
  
  
He could feel the tension lingering between Ron and Harry, and chuckled at their naivete. They were grown men yet still very much children. They have yet to experience the wrath of the real world.   
  
  
Finally coming up with a plan, he lifted his left arm so it was parallel to the ground, and uttered,   
  
  
"_Scindo_."   
  
  
A dark green flash of light exploded from the tip of his wand, blowing through the insect-inhabited walk and creating a clear path for them to walk through. Looking very smug, Draco jogged the distance to the front door, with Harry and Ron in tow.   
  
  
"That was...," Ron began in awe, but Draco waved him off.   
  
  
"Save your praise for later, Weasley, we still have your sister to save." Pensive, Draco adjusted his standing position so he was able to stare intently at the large, rotting door in front of him.   
  
  
"Knock," whispered Ron.   
  
  
"That's a great idea," gasped Draco. "Then after that I can paint a bull's-eye on my bum."   
  
  
"It was just a suggestion," Ron mumbled sourly, shifting around behind him.   
  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. Gryffindors — no tact at all.   
  
  
"Maybe there's a backway," Ron said again.   
  
  
Draco shot a look to his left, then his right. Every inch of the house's yard had knee-high weeds, probably infested with more disgusting bugs.   
  
  
"No," he said, suppressing another shudder. The _Scindo_ spell takes a lot out of the user, and he didn't have enough energy to perform it again. Dark Arts tend to do that to a person.   
  
  
Ron was on the end of his chain. His sister could very well be struggling for her life at that very moment! And what was he doing? Hiding under a Cloak. He never felt more like a coward.   
  
  
"What the hell are we supposed to do — _wait_ for them to invite us in?"   
  
  
And sure enough, the large oak door opened with a creak. Draco glanced over his shoulder at the space that was Ron, arching a brow. He could hear Ron shrug.   
  
  
The door was opened fully, though all they could see inside was a faint outline of another door at the end. Their view was obstructed, however, by a large man, who fit perfectly between the wide door frame. The man was indeed bulky, though he looked to be more meat than muscle. He had a round face, with a bristly beard, and a wry grin playing around his rough and chapped lips.   
  
  
Draco's shock immediately vanished after getting a better look at the man. His face held nothing but a calm glare, and his voice was blanketed with a smooth and velvety tone as he greeted the man.   
  
  
"Hello, Goyle."   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Ginny was now thoroughly intrigued, though she would never allow herself to show so. Instead she maintained a derisive look and said,   
  
  
"You're bluffing."   
  
  
Rosa laughed. "Believe what you want, young one, but I may know more about Draco Malfoy than he does himself."   
  
  
Ginny wouldn't allow herself to be tricked by this woman. How could a woman like Rosa ever know about Draco? She was probably just messing with Ginny's mind, figuring she'd have a little fun with her. Ginny wouldn't give her that satisfaction.   
  
  
Rosa laughed again, and began to change the color and length of her hair. Ginny watched with a set face as Rosa imitated her own red mane. She then pulled out a wand and used the Summoning Charm to retrieve a mirror. She gave a satisfied grin as she began to rake her fingers through her hair, which, for some reason, deeply offended Ginny.   
  
  
"I must admit," said Rosa thoughtfully, "that this hair would only work well with a face like yours."   
  
  
And before Ginny could even blink, Rosa had changed her appearance. Ginny was now staring into the brown eyes of... herself.   
  
  
Rosa/Ginny giggled.   
  
  
"Change back," the real Ginny ordered, offence written all over her features.   
  
  
Rosa/Ginny frowned.   
  
  
"You're no fun," she said, and Ginny felt an unusual shiver go down her spine upon hearing her own voice come out of someone else's mouth.   
  
  
Rosa began to change again, though not in the raven-haired woman she was before. No, she wasn't even a woman anymore! Ginny's cheeks unwillingly burned as Rosa's features began to melt. Her complexion paled, her eyes grayed, and her hair got silvery. In no time at all, Draco Malfoy was sitting where Rosa had once been, an uncanny smirk playing around his lips.   
  
  
Ginny was glad she hadn't been standing, for her knees would've given out.   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Gregory Goyle smiled a toothy grin. Draco had never seen him so happy since that one Valentine's in sixth year, when he had stolen the entire Hufflepuff's box of chocolates, and then proceeded to eat it himelf. The memory was not at all enjoyable.   
  
  
"Hallo Malfoy," greeted Goyle, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. Draco found his cheeriness to be all but welcoming. It was downright annoying, really. But he was used to that in Goyle. In Crabbe too, in fact.   
  
  
Goyle's grin seemed to be permently etched on his face as he side-stepped (a feat that seemed entirely impossible considering the width of the door against the width of Goyle) and bent as far as his belly would let him with his arms outstretched to let them in, reminding Draco fondly of the many butlers he used to have at the Manor.   
  
  
"Please come in," said Goyle cheekily, making sweeping motions with his hands. "We've been expecting you."   
  
  
"I bet," Draco muttered under his breath and swept into the old house. The strong smell of dust and decay immediately clung to his nostrils as he tried to have a look around. He didn't bother to check if Ron and Harry was still behind him.   
  
  
"_Lumos_," muttered Goyle, and Draco watched the faint blue light from his wand bob along in the darkness. "Follow me," he said, and started towards the lit doorway at the other end of the room. A sudden wave of coldness swept inside him, as he finally realized what he was doing. He had just walked into his opponent's trap, without any defenses or cunning plans. He felt completely powerless, and he wondered whatever made him so blind.   
  
  
As if to answer his question, a mental image of Ginny flashed in his head. That's what he was there for — to save Ginny. Ginny, the Gryffindor. Ginny, a Weasley. If his mind wasn't so busy getting his legs to move, he would've laughed.   
  
  
He was actually risking his life for a Gryffindor — a _Weasley_. Did he honestly care about her _that_ much?   
  
  
He blinked. When did he even _start_ caring about her?   
  
  
"You go here," came Goyle's grizzly voice. They were in a narrow hallways, poorly lit by a trail of candles hanging on the wall. There were two doors on either side of Draco, and Goyle was motioning towards the first door to Draco's right. The door was closed, though he could barely make out the sound of voices behind it.   
  
  
"Why?" Draco drawled stubbornly.   
  
  
"The Master said so," replied Goyle automatically.   
  
  
Master? Draco arched a brow suspiciously, and opened his mouth to interrogate him when the door Goyle was referring to burst open. What followed was a loud squeal, originating from the tiny form of Blaise Zabini.   
  
  
"Draco, honey!" she squealed, looking like her birthday had come early. She flung her arms out and lunged towards Draco. There wasn't enough room in the hallway, what with Goyle taking up most of it, so Draco couldn't avoid her hug. She wrapped her thin arms around him, surprising him with quite the grip, and pressed her ruby-red lips firmly against his own. Draco struggled to get out of her grasp, only causing her grip to tighten. The added pressure of her lips — and now tongue — over his mouth only made his breathing even more difficult.   
  
  
Only the loud cough of Goyle made her break away. Blaise, now flushed and breathing hard, stared adoringly at Draco.   
  
  
"I'm so glad you could come," she said, like she were welcoming him for a spot of tea.   
  
  
Draco quickly wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his cloak. "What do you want, Blaise?" He was hardly in the mood for any stalling she planned on doing.   
  
  
"Oh, so in a hurry," said Blaise playfully. "Don't you want to have some fun first?"   
  
  
Draco snorted. "I shudder to think what your definition of 'fun' would be."   
  
  
Blaise giggled. "You're so fiesty, Draco. Just like you always were. I'm glad to see that Gryffindor didn't change you _too_ much."   
  
  
"That _Gryffindor_ had nothing to do with my 'change'," he spat. "Now what do you want?"   
  
  
"Aren't you even going to ask where she is?" asked Blaise, pouting slightly. Though it was obvious to see how much fun she was having.   
  
  
"I know how it works, Blaise," said Draco impatiently. "You're not going to reveal anything until you get what you want. Now what do you want?"   
  
  
Blaise's tittering continued. "You're so smart," she simpered, and pointed her wand to an empty space beside Draco. "I'll tell you, but first we have to get rid of our other guests."   
  
  
Before Draco's eyes could even widen, she shouted the body bind spell, and two loud thuds sounded in his ears. With a tinge of dread, Draco's eyes fell to the spot beside him, where he could just see the tip of Harry's shoe from underneath the Invisibility Cloak. There were no sounds that suggested that she missed.   
  
  
Draco turned back to Blaise, who was tapping her wand in satisfaction. "H-How — ?" was all he could say, eyes nearly falling out of their sockets.   
  
  
Blaise grinned, her giggly school girl facade having dropped. "You honestly didn't think I was that stupid, did you?" she asked. Draco just gaped, making her grin grow.   
  
  
"Shame, shame, Draco. Hadn't your father taught you anything?"   
  
  
And with that, she raised her wand again, pointing it directly at Draco's heart. He didn't have time to react. Within the blink of an eye, he was subjected to the Crutiatus Curse.   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
Looking back at his face hurt her in more ways than one. He sat with one arm casually draped over the arm of his chair, while the other was raised to prop up his chin. His eyes were dark and hooded, yet the shape they had suggested his amusement. He was perfect. Everything, down to the way his silvery tresses fell over his eyes, pulled at her heart strings. Even his clothing. Rosa must've had some sort of fetish for leather, because the pants he had on shined like the dragon-hides Charlie often brought home.   
  
  
And yet, no matter how uncanny, it was not the real Draco — something Ginny thought in disappointment. While Rosa had his sneer down pat, there was just no replacing the original. It amazed Ginny that she would actually _know_ what the original was. Perhaps he'd gotten a lot closer to her than she may have thought.   
  
  
The sudden thought of their moments together flashed through Ginny's mind, like a Muggle movie going on inside her head. She remembered their moment in the kitchens, if it could even be labeled as a 'moment'. He was civil — as civil as Draco Malfoy can get anyway. His sarcasm hadn't faded a bit, but she found herself missing him regardless.   
  
  
Great Merlin, she thought. She actually missed him. Why? Why was it that he be the first person she thought of in a time so dire? The only other time she had been this frightened was in her first year. Inside the Chamber of Secrets. And the person she thought of _then_ was... Harry.   
  
  
A soft sound escaped from her mouth, sounding a lot like something close to, "duck". Oh boy, she thought. She couldn't. Not him. No. It was impossible. Illogical. Absurd! She _couldn't_...   
  
  
Suddenly her heart beat hard against her chest, as if to prove itself. That was all Ginny needed to send the tears flowing down her cheeks. She couldn't. She just couldn't. It made absolutely no sense at all. How could she? _Why_ would she? Yet, as her heart gave another loud thump, she couldn't help but admit that she actually did.   
  
  
"No — not again," she pleaded, as she quietly gripped the ropes that binded her. Ginny Weasley would _not_ allow herself to fall in love again. Her heart, however, had other plans.   
  
  
  
----------------------------------------   
  
  
  
*I have no idea about this. I made it up completely. If it _does_ happen to be true, then hurrah! — I'm a genius.   
  
Also, _draconii_ is the plural form of _draconis_. Just thought I'd clear that up.   
  
  
  
Much love to all my reviewers! **wolviesrogue**, **Joya**, **Robyn Maddison**, **ThePixieDustPoet**, **Exploiting Hypothesis**, and **Beth**.   
  
And contrary to a not-so popular belief, I have _not_ given up on this fic. So you all haven't gotten rid of me yet! ;D   
  
  
  
_Chapter Fifteen; Sight, sound, and touch._


	15. Heart, Body, and Mind

**_And she apologizes..._**  
Well, this turned up (and took) longer than I expected. Yeesh, you have no idea how many rewrites this chapter had! *dies* But all for the good, I hope! Anyways, one of the main reasons the story's progressing so slowly was because of final exams -- yes, those wretched, evil little things. But no more, for summer has officially started! Hooray for me! Though I won't exactly have as much time as I normally would for this summer, considering my taking a self-enrichment class for summer school (blasted math!) and I've got a wedding to attend to in NY, meaning I will most probably be void of a computer for a full three weeks. But hey! At least it doesn't take me _months_ to shell out a chapter, right? 'Sides, even amateur authors need a little sabatical to "recharge one's battaries". 

Btw, I'll admit right now what a review whore I am (-- but in a totally nice way!). So if you've got any sort of comment in mind while reading, _please_ don't hesitate to click that review button! Authors like me _thrive_ on it! o_o   
  
  
  


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**Chapter Fifteen: Heart, Body, and Mind**   
Hermione had never felt so useless. Here she was, a Head Girl graduate, sitting around in an office while her friends were off risking their lives. She was the top of her class! The cleverest witch of her time! _Surely_ she was more useful than this. 

She sighed audibly, fingering the crystal paperweight on Dumbledore's desk. She had been in his office before, and she would've sworn that with every visit, more and more little gadgets filled it's space. Dumbledore himself was currently engrossed in getting all of the colors of a little cube on one side — a fascinating Muggle device, Dumbledore had told her in awe. Hermione noticed that the cube did not look any different than it had an hour ago. 

"Ahh!" said Dumbledore softly, his eyes lighting up as he held the cube in his hand triumphantly. He had managed to piece three purple blocks together. A slight twitch crept into Hermione's mouth, and before she knew it, she was smiling. She just had to smile. Possibly the greatest wizard of all time was sitting in front of her, feeling deathly proud of himself at the moment, all because he had managed to get the hang of a Muggle game. It was probably one of the many aspects of Dumbledore she admired. He was such a simple man, yet so powerful and wise. 

She secretly hoped that Dumbledore was right about sending her boys off with Draco. Not that she didn't trust the man, but she found the whole scene curious. The letter screamed of a trap, yet Dumbledore was so certain. Perhaps there was something he wasn't letting on... 

Hermione's eyes traced the lines on Dumbledore's forehead, which deepened due to his deep concentration on the cube. They seemed to have doubled since she saw him last. He looked so old, she thought, even with the Muggle game in hand. So old and tired. 

As if Dumbledore could detect her stare — which, considering that he _is_ Dumbledore, he probably could — , turned to her and said, "You're doing the most you could right now." 

"How?" Her reply came out derisive, despite her better judgement. "How is sitting around, worrying like a mother helping them?" 

Dumbledore smiled softly. "For now, I'm afraid that's all you can do." 

Hermione shook her head, feeling greatly frustrated. "I'm tired Headmaster," she said softly. 

"Then perhaps you should retreat to the dorms," he added helpfully, but Hermione just shook her head again. 

"Not like that," she said, sighing. Her eyes suddenly glazed over, and her nose began to turn pink. "I'm tired of feeling so useless. I want to help them so much but..." She shook her head again, sniffling softly. "Nothing makes sense anymore." 

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled at her, which she found oddly reassuring. "Have faith, Hermione," he said gently. "The time will come when all questions will be answered." 

"You wouldn't happen to know when that would be, would you?" asked Hermione, smiling weakly. 

"Ahh, well," said Dumbledore, looking sheepish, "as inconceivable as it sounds, I'm afraid that not even _I_ know everything." 

"Please, sir," said Hermione desperately. If she had to stay in his office for another minute, she'd explode. "There has to be _something_ we could do." 

Dumbledore smiled softly. "I have a few ideas," he said heavily, "but I dare not act upon them until I am certain of what is going on." 

"I thought you knew," said Hermione slowly. "Snape, he — " 

"Informed me of rumors," interrupted Dumbledore. He sighed. "Remember that during the War, Miss Granger, Severus was discovered to be the spy. His sources are no longer as stable as they used to be." 

Hermioned shook her head. "I _can't_ keep waiting around like this, Professor. I just _have_ to be there!" 

Dumbledore smiled at the young witch. It was not so long ago that she had been off searching for trouble with her friends. They had always been a unit, Dumbledore thought. They leaned on one another — finding strength in each other. So much like the Marauders, he thought with a nostalgic smile. 

Looking determined, he pursed his lips thoughtfully. "There is something," he said, and straightened his back against his chair. Hermione looked at him hopefully. "But I'm afraid I'm too old to perform it," he added hastily, eyeing Hermione. Hermione's brows shot up a notch at his hinting. 

"Oh!" she gasped, feeling oddly sheepish. "Oh, of course!" 

Dumbledore's face broke into a smile. "Wonderful," he said, and began waving about his wand. "Don't you worry, Miss Granger," he said reassuringly, "I assure you — the pain is not that bad." 

Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief at the micheivious twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes. But before she could say anything, an odd, burning feeling began to sprout behind her eyes. Instinctively, she shut them. Her eyes watered as the burning pain increased. Her hands flew up to her eyes, rubbing them with all her might in hopes to make the pain stop. It was like her eyes were on fire! There was an unusual, twisting feeling right behind her retinas, like someone was carving on them. 

"Don't fight it," came Dumbledore's gentle voice. 

But Hermione hardly heard him. Her eyes felt like they would disintegrate at any moment! A cry unwillingly escaped her lips as Hermione doubled over in the pain. Then suddenly it stopped. The pain was gone. Hermione opened her tear-soaked eyes, wide from the experience. She blinked up at Dumbledore, only to see him smiling proudly at her. 

And then he was gone. Her line of vision blurred and contorted, twisting about like it were water disturbed. The swirling colors went on for what felt like minutes when they began to swirl back in place. But she was no longer in Dumbledore's office. She was in a room. A dark room where the only light was supplied by a few sticks of candle carelessly placed about. Then she saw them. Sitting with their backs against a wall, just past the large and dusty bed that the room held. 

"What do you see?" came Dumbledore's voice, soft and muffled. 

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but found a voice not of her own answering back. "_I see them_," she said, in a voice that sounded neither man nor women. The misty air she spoke in vaguely reminded her of the droning tone Professor Trelawney always used to use. 

"Where are they?" coaxed Dumbledore. 

"_In the House_," she answered, without thinking. She blinked. How did she know that? 

"Are they alone?" Dumbledore continued. 

"_Yes_," she was going to say, but stopped. The lighting in the room only gave her a glance at her boys, but a loud thump in the pit of her gut told her the truth. "_No_," she answered, her tone low and hollow. "_No, they're not_."   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Rosa, still in her Draco guise, regarded Ginny with curiosity. The little girl had completely broken down, and was sobbing soundly into her hands. She had never seen anyone quite so... open. It was greatly disturbing. 

"Stop your wailing," she ordered, the words blanketed with Draco Malfoy's voice. 

Ginny sniffled. Sheepishly she glanced over her fingers, bloodshot eyes eyeing her with something that looked a lot like fear. 

"I didn't realize Draco Malfoy brought out that kind of reaction from you," said Rosa, fashioning a half-smile in Draco's lips. 

Ginny hiccoughed. She dropped her hands to her lap, and lowered her head in hopes to hide her puffy face. Her wrists were red and bleeding from all of her attempts to break through the ropes, but nothing hurt her more than having to look at Draco. 

"Change back," she said, then added a soft, "please." 

Rosa/Draco looked unfazed. 

"Why does the sight of this boy hurt you so?" she asked, thoroughly intrigued. 

Ginny gave her a dry look. "He called me Weasel." 

Rosa/Draco narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You're crying because he called you names?" 

"Well, they were really foul names." 

"Are you being smart with me?" asked Rosa, perfecting the Draco glare. 

Ginny suppressed a shudder at its uncanniness. "I'm not ever going to tell you, so you might as well stop your interrogating." She paused. Rosa was staring at her with an excited look in Draco's eyes. "What?" she asked, frowning. 

"You care for him." It was not a question. 

Ginny stiffened her back. "I care for a lot of people." 

"Yes, but you care for him," said Rosa. She giggled — or Draco did. Either way, it sent chills down Ginny's spine. "You love this boy!" 

"I do not!" Ginny shouted, and began to wriggle her hands free from the rope. "You probably don't even know what love is!" 

Rosa/Draco grinned darkly. "I've been around for a long time, little girl. I know love when I see it." 

"Right," said Ginny, concentrating more on the ropes than on Rosa. 

Rosa rolled Draco's eyes. "Don't bother," she said, "this room's been charmed. Anyone else can come in and out besides you." 

Ginny growled under her breath. "So then what was the rope for? Added effect?" 

Rosa shrugged. "Even us bad guys like to do our share of dramatics." 

Ginny uttered something under her breath that sounded a lot like "witch". Rosa was unfazed. 

"How can you love this boy?" said Rosa thoughtfully. "I've been watching him — you two have barely had a moment alone. Love can't possibly bloom from your trivial meetings." 

Ginny grinned without mirth. "Then you obviously don't know that much about love as you lead on." 

Rosa shook Draco's head stubbornly. "It makes no sense. You can't possibly love him." 

"Accept it already," said Ginny darkly. "I have." 

There was a long silence. Ginny had given up on her ropes and was currently absorbed in watching an ant crawl across the bed. She simply refused to look back at Rosa, not while she was still in Draco garb. 

"You're careless with your heart," said Rosa. There was a soft whooshing sound and Rosa was once again back to her smutty self. 

Ginny ventured a glance at her. With much resignation, she nodded her agreement. There was a foreign look in Rosa's face that looked as if she understood. Ginny highly doubted it. 

"That will be your end someday," said Rosa softly. Slowly, she got up and sat at the foot of the bed, lowering her head so her eyes were level with Ginny's. And she saw it. There, hidden behind the innocent shimmer of Ginny's brown eyes, was a love — so strong, yet so uncertain. 

"Why do you love him so much?" 

Ginny sniffled. She really didn't want to talk about Draco right then. "I don't know," she answered truthfully. She hesitated. "I think," she said, her voice soft and full of regret, "that he reminds me of someone I used to love..."   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
_Ow_. 

Pain, pain, and more pain. That was basically all Draco could think of. And it wasn't like the kind of pain he felt when he fell off his broom during Quidditch, because it bruised his ego more than it did his body. This pain was the kind that made you wish your were dead. It was pain unlike anything he had ever felt before, because contrary to popular belief, his father never exposed him to the Crutiatus Curse. Sure, there were your standard beatings or exposure to deadly bugs every now and then, but Lucius never used Dark Curses against his own son — possibly one of the only traits Draco admired him for. 

Every inch of his body continued to ache, even after he realized that the Curse had ended. He opened his eyes, never knowing he was even closing them. The blurry image of Blaise Zabini grew into focus as she bent over to observe him. The firm concrete he felt behind his back and head led him to conclude that he had fallen on the ground. For how long he had been on the ground, however, he did not know. Though it felt like an eternity for his body. 

Blaise's face split into a toothy grin once she realized that Draco was awake. "Rise and shine!" she sang, not knowing that her words pounded in Draco's head. Or maybe she did and that was the whole point. 

"Urgh," was all Draco could say. He really wanted to say more, preferably all profanity, but it hurt to even breathe. 

Blaise began to click her tongue. "Poor baby," she said, pretending to look sympathetic while her eyes were full of glee. She held Draco by the sides and propped him up against the wall that was behind him. Even with his winter cloak on, he could still feel her cold hands against his skin. She smiled when he shivered. 

"Yes, it is a bit drafty in here," she said casually. "Though your friends weren't complaining much." 

Draco's eyes trailed over to the opposite wall. Harry and Ron were sitting against the wall, much like he was, with their heads sagging to the side slightly. They looked slightly battered and unconscious. The Invisibility Cloak was no where in sight. 

Blaise shook her pretty little head. "Gryffindors, Draco?" she asked in criticism. "You're much of a traitor than I thought you were." 

Draco managed a sneer. "You know there's a word for people like you," he croaked. "It starts with a 'b' and it ends with an 'otch'." While the look he got from her was highly entertaining, the long sentence left him out of breath and panting. 

"You fancy yourself funny, don't you?" growled Blaise. "We'll see how funny you are once I'm done with you." 

Draco managed to make a rude gesture with his hands, making Blaise's eyes flash. 

"Take him away," she ordered and walked over to the other side of the room to examine Harry and Ron. Goyle, who had been standing by the door on Draco's right, grunted and lifted Draco up by his collars, as simply as a child would a doll. 

"You chose the wrong side, Malfoy," Goyle glared, lifting Draco high enough that his feet no longer made contact with the ground. 

"Now _there_'s something I don't often hear," said Draco, not being able to resist. Aggravating people was like second nature to him. 

Goyle contorted his face into a sneer so distorted that Draco couldn't help but think, "amateur". "I wouldn't be so smart right now," he warned, "you're already getting on the Master's nerves." 

Draco mustered up all of his energy to smile proudly. Goyle scowled and tightened his grip around Draco's collars. 

"Goyle!" shouted Blaise, from her spot beside Ron. "I said 'take him away'!" 

Goyle certainly looked like he was battling some sort of internal conflict when he lowered Draco and began to drag him out of the room. What a way to travel, Draco thought, as Goyle purposely hit his head against the door frame for the second time. 

He vaguely heard the sound of doors opening when Goyle suddenly threw him — effortlessly too! — a great distance away. He hit the wall with a sickening crunch and fell to the floor for the second time that day. It wasn't all that bad, considering he was already starting numb thanks to the Cruciatus Curse. 

He heard a cry from somewhere above him and a lot of feet movement going on around him. His eyes were starting to dilate from the darkness of the room he was put in, and he was hardly aware of the little redhead that was currently struggling to get to his side. 

"Draco!" came a muffled voice. He felt rough taps against his cheeks. Two large brown eyes soon came into focus and he dreamily blinked at them, not really knowing what was going on. 

Suddenly, the eyes disappeared, and he was forced to look up at a tall, curvy woman with hair as dark as Harry's. The woman was currently engaged in a conversation with Goyle, who was holding the owner of the brown eyes around the waist. 

"Aren't they going to preform it already?" came the woman's sultry voice. 

Goyle shook his large head. "They said the potion's not ready yet," he explained. 

"It's nearly midnight," growled the woman, sounding very impatient. "How long before the potion's done?" 

Goyle shrugged. "Blaise said — " 

"And what about the others?" interrupted the woman. She sounded very grumpy. "What are they planning to do with them?" 

"Leave 'em to the Dark Lord, I guess," Goyle replied, not without a hint of amusement. 

The woman nodded, then looked at Draco, who just blinked at her. "Should I tie him up?" 

"Nah," said Goyle, chuckling. "He won't be able to do anything for a long while." He tossed the girl he held in his hands to the side, effectively aiming her towards the bed beside Draco, and walked out. The woman lingered around for a while to give Draco a measuring sort of look, before leaving herself. 

Draco allowed himself to let out the groan he had been struggling to keep in once the door was shut. Almost immediately, a squeal came from the bed beside him, and, within the span of a millisecond, something heavy thrust itself towards him. 

"Oof!" he gasped, feeling whatever wind he had left knocked out of him. 

"Oh, Draco!" said the something that was currently squeezing the life out of him. 

He could just imagine his face turning a lovely shade of blue. "Uh..." 

"I was so worried!" it continued, sobbing its words into his shoulder. "Blaise — what she said!" 

"Uh," he said again, and panicked when he heard something that sounded an awful lot like a bone snap. "Dammit, Weasley, let go of me!" he shouted, using his lungs to its full extent. Immediately, Ginny let go, and air was once again able to fill up his lungs. 

"Sorry," said Ginny in a tiny voice. The red tint on her face suggested that she was feeling very stupid. Draco groaned. Slowly, he tried to adjust his sitting position so his spine wasn't so crooked. Doing this left him completely breathless. Dammit, he thought, and wondered how long Blaise had put that blasted curse on him. 

"Draco," said Ginny again, her eyes wide and frightened. She was currently kneeling beside him. Her hair was tousled and sticking out in odd directions while her skin was dirty with dust. A small red line just above her right eye shined against the candlelight and her wrists were red and bloody. Yet, all in all, she was more breathtaking than any sort of physical exercise would ever be. Well, he thought with a sly grin, maybe not all. 

"You," Ginny breathed, brows crinkling, "look terrible." 

Draco blinked. He figured he must have, after being thrown around as much as he was. He fixed on a dark look and quickly looked away, feeling somewhat ashamed of himself. His hair must've looked terrible. 

"What happened?" Ginny wondered, inching closer towards him. 

"I fell." 

Ginny staggered, thrown. She gave him a calculating look. "You... fell." 

"Gravity is a cruel mistress," said Draco solemnly. 

Ginny glared. Draco smiled. He was glad to know that under his weak state he was still able to annoy people. 

"You're impossible," said Ginny, and threw her hands up in exasperation. 

"Oh no," assured Draco, grinning slyly, "I'm quite possible." 

Ginny pulled a face. "Is that all you guys ever think about?" 

Draco chuckled weakly — laughing hurt his chest too much. "Only when a game's not on." 

"Guys are disgusting," pouted Ginny. She looked highly disappointed. Draco tried to make his position more comfortable — which was a tad bit hard considering he was surrounded by concrete. The bed, while reaking of dust and mold, looked a lot cozier than the floor. Ginny caught the look in his eyes and sighed resignedly. 

"Do you need help?" she asked, voice dripping of sympathy. 

He gave her a blank, uncomprehending look. "Help?" 

"To get on the bed," she said. 

Draco grinned. "I didn't know you were that kind of girl." 

Ginny glared. Whatever sympathy she felt for Draco quickly vanished. She stood up quickly, her hands on her hips and looking murderous. "Nevermind. I don't know what I was thinking." She stomped off towards the bed herself, and sank into it, pouting like a child. 

Draco set his jaw. Gingerly, he raised his left arm and began to examine it, turning it over slightly. In experiment, he began to stretch out his fingers and curl them in. At least his wand hand was still usable. He began to do the same with his right hand and legs, eventually getting enough strength to crawl around. With a large amount of difficulty, he stood up, using the wall as support and stumbled towards the bed where Ginny sat, back against the headboard and arms folded across her chest. 

"Move over," grunted Draco, and plopped down on the spot beside her. He let out a loud and relieved sigh as he finally felt something other than solid rock hit his head. 

A loud "hmph!" came from the side where Ginny sat, but Draco quickly learned to ignore it. He was far too busy taking in the comfort from the soft pillows around him. 

"If you really _did_ fall, it was incredibly stupid in your part," said Ginny suddenly. She was obviously refusing to let it go. 

Draco tightly shut his eyes. Couldn't she tell he was exhausted? "Yes — I am incredibly stupid." He shifted around so that his back was facing her. Ginny seemed unfazed. 

"And does everything you say have to drip with sarcasm?" 

"Would you prefer soft malice?" he asked lightly. 

"I would _prefer_ sincerity," said Ginny, sounding hurt. 

Draco opened his eyes and sighed. He shifted around so his back was flat against the mattress and his eyes were staring straight up at the ceiling. "Have you ever heard of the Cruciatus Curse?" 

The memory of the tiny spider writhing in her lap flashed through Ginny's mind. She held up a hand to her mouth and stared at Draco. 

"They put the Cruciatus Curse on you?" she gasped, looking near tears. 

Draco shrugged. Actually, it was more like a twitch in his right shoulder. "It wasn't that bad," he lied. Truthfully, he was surprised he could even talk. He'd heard horrible stories about people who had been put on the Cruciatus Curse, Neville Longbottom's parents being one of them. It was not something he was ever fond of hearing about. 

Suddenly, he felt something soft and warm touch his cheek. He blinked in surprise upon realizing that it was Ginny's hand. 

"What are you doing?" he asked, somewhat panicked, as she put her other hand on his chest. 

"I'm checking your heartbeat," she said softly, concentrating on the soft thumps beneath his chest. They were growing rapid with every minute her hands were on him. 

"Why?" he asked, though he was not at all complaining to her touch. She was gentler and warmer than Blaise had ever been. 

"I'd learned it from Hermione," she answered. "You're supposed to check a victims heartbeat after they've been hit with that curse. See, the Cruciatus Curse doesn't just do physical damage, but internal damage as well. If it's been put on long enough, it stops the heart from giving out the right amount of blood." She paused and look down at Draco in surprise. His hand was firmly placed over her own. 

"You're warm," he said, smiling softly and shaking under her hand. She suddenly realized the slight shade of purple his lips had taken on. 

"There are some blankets over there," Ginny said rather lamely, "if you're cold." She was vaguely aware that this had been the closest she'd ever been to a man — let alone Draco. 

Draco shook his head slightly, and slowly closed his eyes. "I like your heat." He still held her hand as he slowly drifted off into sleep. 

Ginny bit her lip. He was delirious, that's it. The Cruciatus Curse was taking it's toll and he was hysterical. He couldn't have meant anything from his previous words. Right? Ginny shook her head, feeling thoroughly ashamed for some odd reason. She looked around them. There were sheets and blankets at the foot of the bed, though she'd have to remove her hand from Draco if she were to get them. And as much as she hated to admit it, she liked having his hand over hers. 

But he was beginning to shiver. Gingerly, she replaced the hand Draco held with her other, and stretched across the bed to reach for a blanket. Feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he slept, Ginny couldn't help but smile as she spread the blanket over him. Despite his battered state, he looked almost peaceful as he slept. With his hair spread around his head, looking almost like a silver halo, he strongly reminded her of those angels her mother told her about. 

"What have I gotten myself into?" she said softly, watching him sleep, and only heard the soft exhale of his breath as a reply. She shook her head softly, and nestled against the headboard, keeping a good distance away from him while her hand was still in his own. 

She sighed. She noticed the way his eyes weren't completely closed, and how every now and then they'd flicker. He must be dreaming, she thought, and smiled. She wondered what a person like Draco Malfoy dreamt about.   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Harry awoke, feeling like he had been sleep for years. Gravity seemed to have a special liking to him, as he could barely lift his own eyelids. He tried to move his head, which only sent a sharp pain to shoot through it. He heard a groan from somewhere beside him. 

"Fuck," someone uttered. 

Harry knew that mouth anywhere. "Ron?" 

Ron made a slight gasping sound and then a low, "Harry?" 

Harry immediately forced open his eyes. They were in a poor lit room, but he was close enough to Ron to see him. He was sitting beside him, legs out and arms limp. There was a long cut near his ear, and dirt covered most of his clothes and face. He looked terrible. Harry figured he looked similar, if not worse. 

"Where are we?" groaned Ron, as he tried to straighten his back. 

Harry looked around. They were in an old bedroom, he could tell, from all the old furniture that surrounded them. There was a mirror on the wall across them. It was tall and circular, with a silver lining and the words '_eest onna csey etahw woh si_' engraved along the edges. His Invisibility Cloak was no where in sight. 

"I'm guessing somewhere inside the Riddle House," he answered, somewhat gloomily. "How do you feel?" 

"Like my head just exploded," said Ron, and rubbed his tired eyes. "I think they drugged us or something." 

"Just be happy that's all they did," said Harry, frowning. He had been trying to get his fingers to move, but they were being rather stubborn. 

Ron groaned into his hands. "Damned Malfoy. This is all his fault." 

Harry smiled grimly. "Do you really think so?" 

"Yes!" shouted Ron. "If it hadn't been for _him_, we wouldn't even be here — " 

"With a shot at rescuing your sister," interjected Harry. 

Ron sent him a dark look. "Are you sticking up for him?" 

Harry returned the look. "No, but I'm not blaming him either. I'm just saying — no one could've seen that coming. I mean, who would know that Blaise could see us?" 

"Well, who would _you_ blame?" asked Ron. 

Harry blinked, then gave him a small smile. "The same person I always blame," he said solemnly. 

Ron stared. Harry was gazing up at the ceiling with an unusually calm look, his green eyes looking darker than they'd ever been, having grown dim with every passing nightmare he had to live and relive. Only then did Ron realize just how fucked up fate could be. 

"This had nothing to do with you," said Ron, his voice low and hoarse. 

Harry chuckled without much mirth. "Yeah," he said, still glancing at the ceiling. He said nothing else. 

Ron looked away. He hated it when Harry put the weight of the world on his shoulders, thinking every single thing was his fault. Harry was the last person who deserved to bare that kind of burden. It wasn't fair. None of it was. 

There was a long pause. Then, 

"Well, well," said a silky voice from between the doorway. The owner of the voice moved towards them, causing the flowing black gown she wore to billow behind her, while two large men stood on either side, making her look smaller than she really was. She bent down so her eyes were level to Harry's, a sharp smirk tugging at her blood-red lips and illuminating her pug-like face. "It seems as if you've finally waken up."   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
_The fire was gone. Comfort, safety, and everything else he felt with the fire had disappeared. He felt oddly empty. _

Figures in black cloaks formed a circle around him, all keeping impossibly still as if there were no life underneath the hoods. A winter chill hung in the air, penetrating even the leather he wore. The figure before him had its hand outstretched expectantly. It held a dagger in its free hand, moving it in the little light that the room offered. Without thinking, Draco held out his hand. The figure cut him, and he watched as his blood flowed unto his skin, then trickle down to the floor. 

But he didn't care anymore. 

The fire was gone. 

Draco kept his eyes closed, even after he had awoken. He'd never had that dream before. Somehow he felt that having it now in that house meant nothing good. He finally opened his eyes, giving in to the instinctive urge. He looked around him, hoping to find himself in some other place. But life once again proves it's unfairness as his eyes took in a dim bedroom of the Riddle House. 

Something stirred beside him. Warily, he glanced over his shoulder and found Ginny Weasley sleeping soundlessly by his side, an arm draped over his chest with her hand clutched into his. He blinked. Like a tidal wave, it all came back to him. Goyle, Blaise, the Crutiatus Curse, Ginny... 

His eyes traveled back to the girl beside him. Her head was conveniently nestled between his right shoulder and chest, and her breath ruffled the collars of his shirt. She was warm. And very close. 

Get a grip, he told himself. She's a child — a Weasley child. You can't be lusting after a Weasley. He shut his eyes, and began counting backwards from 100. Ginny had yet to wake up. He was in the 30s when he decided that counting wouldn't take his mind off her, especially after she began to make smacking noises with her lips. Without knowing what so, he gripped her hand tightly, shutting his eyes even tighter. 

Ginny moaned softly (Draco nearly screamed at this point), and her eyes fluttered open. Groggily, she looked around the room. When her eyes landed on Draco, he smiled weakly. She blinked as her face began to explore the many shades of red. None of them moved — not that they wanted to. But Draco thought he had better say something before she discovered a new color. 

"Um..." 

"Er..." 

Ginny bit her lip. Draco desperately wished for a cold shower. 

"I must have fallen asleep," said Ginny, looking sheepish. 

"It seems that way," smiled Draco. Simultaneously, they sat up, Draco feeling cold once Ginny had let go on his hand. He began to stretch his back and neck, feeling as stiff as a board. 

"I wish there was a clock in here," said Ginny sadly. "Then I'd know how long I'd been in this blasted room." 

"Somehow," said Draco, "I doubt that would help lighten the mood." 

Ginny sighed heavily. She wrapped her arms around herself, and sniffed. "I want to go home." 

She began to sob quietly, and Draco suddenly felt very uncomfortable. Awkwardly, he pat her back, praying she'd stop. Crying girls always tore at him for some reason. 

"There there," he said lamely. "Um, I'm sure you'll be there in no time." 

Ginny choked on her laugh. "Right," she said, and wiped her tears with her sleeves. "You know you're terrible at this cheering up stuff." She smiled at him. "But thanks for trying." 

Draco grinned without mirth. "Well, what would you expect from someone like me?" 

Ginny gave him a stubborn look. "Why do you keep putting yourself down?" she asked, turning towards him. 

"I'm not," said Draco seriously. "I don't need to. I'm already 'down'. Hell, I'm the king of down." 

Ginny's expression softened. "I don't think you are." 

"And you're some sort of expert on me," said Draco, arching a brow. 

Ginny shook her head, sending her auburn tresses into the air. "I don't need to be," she said softly. "I know bad, Draco, and you're not it." 

Something foreign flashed through Draco's eyes as he stared back into her's. "Since when do you call me Draco?" he asked, in the same soft voice she used on him. 

Ginny grinned, and said, with the same air he used when he first said it that one night in the kitchens, "I'd like to think that one day, a Weasley and a Malfoy can be civil toward one another." 

Draco actually laughed. The action caused a sharp pain to shoot through his chest. Before he could stop himself, he clutched his chest and winced. Ginny's light attitude turned into concern. She raised a hand, as if to comfort him but she immediately stopped herself. It was best if she made the least amount of physical contact with him as possible. Instead, she asked if he was okay. He nodded his reply, though not without another wince. 

"I'm sorry," she said, feeling like she would cry again. 

"For what?" Draco asked, looking amused. 

"For this," replied Ginny, gesturing around her. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't been so careless, I wouldn't have been kidnapped, and you wouldn't be here, and have had to suffer, and — " 

Draco shook his head. "None of this is your fault," he said with conviction. 

"No," said Ginny in a low voice, "it is. It always is." 

Draco was suddenly brought back to his second year, back when the Chamber of Secrets was opened. While the staff did their best to hide the truth, Draco had always known that it was Ginny who opened it. But he never thought that she actually blamed herself for it. If anyone was to blame, it was his damned Father for giving her that diary. 

"You're being too hard on yourself," said Draco. "This has nothing to do with you." Whether or not that was a lie, he did not know. But something told him it was the right thing to say. 

Ginny sniffed. "You don't know that," she said sadly. 

"I do," he said sharply, then in a softer voice he added, "if anything, it's me." 

Ginny blinked her growing tears at him, confused. "You?" 

Draco nodded, and leaned back against the headboard to stare up at the ceiling. "When you were kidnapped, Blaise sent me a letter. She told me to come here for you." 

Ginny couldn't comprehend it. "Why?" 

Apparently, Draco couldn't either. "Beats me. All I know is that she wanted me and me alone to come here, using you as bait — that bitch," he added with harsh malice. "So really, it's my fault you're even here." 

Ginny's brows blended together as she absorbed this new information. "You came here," she said slowly, trying to understand, "just because of me?" 

An odd expression blanketed Draco's face — like he was trying to hide whatever it was he was feeling. The overall effect just made him look like he was constipated. Ginny tried her hardest not to laugh and ruin such a serious moment. 

"I didn't come alone," Draco finally answered. Ginny frowned slightly, as he didn't really answer her question. "Potter and Weasley are in another room." 

The mention of her brother and friend quickly diminished whatever disappointment she felt. She suddenly felt hopeful. "Ron and Harry's here? Where are they? What happened?" 

Draco nodded. "Knocked out." Boy, was he blunt. 

"So why are you the one here with me?" 

Draco thought about this. In truth, he really didn't know. But he wasn't about to let Ginny know that. With heavy sincerity he answered, "I'm prettier." 

Ginny sputtered her laughter. "What does _that_ have to do with anything?" 

"Everything," said Draco, looking hurt. "It's a universal rule: the pretty ones get the girls." 

Ginny smirked. Draco found himself loving the way a tiny dimple appeared just over the corner of her mouth when she did so. "I thought it was the heros who got the girls," she said, and Draco scoffed. 

"If that were true," said Draco derisively, "then Potter'd be the one in here." 

Ginny chose to ignore the tinge of bitterness in his voice. "It's not like you have any competition," she said lightly. "Ron's my brother, and Harry's... Well, Harry's Harry." 

Draco looked unfazed. "So?" 

"So that means you aren't necessarily the prettiest or the best choice if you consider the other pickings." 

Draco thought about that. He scrunched up his brows in thought, causing the corners of Ginny's lips to quirk up. She couldn't help but admit how cute he looked when he was thinking. She nearly giggled at the way he'd chew on his bottom lip. Suddenly his eyes lit up. With a snap of his fingers, he said, triumphantly, "You said necessarily. There's doubt. You think I'm pretty." 

That made her giggle. She didn't admit it, but she didn't deny it either. Victory was his. 

"Admit it," he teased, "I'm the prettiest." 

"Yes," she smiled, "you're the prettiest boy in this room." 

Draco put on a satisfied grin. At least it was something. The aftereffects of the Crutiatus Curse was slowly, but surely, going away, and he was able to move around a lot quicker. In experiment, he sat up and sat cross-legged. Ginny made a sort of choking noise, and he looked up to see that she was suppressing a smile. 

"What?" he asked her, brow arched. 

"Nothing," she said, smiling furtively. Draco continued to eye her suspiciously when she burst into giggles. Now he was just annoyed. 

"_What_?" 

Ginny placed her hand over her mouth in an attempt to quiet herself. It didn't work. "It's just," she tittered, "you — sitting — like that!" 

Draco looked down at himself and frowned. "What's wrong with it?" 

"Nothing!" she said, though she was still giggling. "I just never imagined Draco Malfoy to sit in such a...," she searched for the appropriate word, "_common_ manner." 

Draco's frown grew. "I'm not _that_ much of a twit, am I?" 

"You were," said Ginny smugly, after having finally finished her giggle fit. 

"People change," he said indignantly. 

"You did," Ginny smiled. Draco gave her a satisfied nod. Her warm smile grew sly. "I guess miracles _do_ happen." 

"Ha, ha." 

Ginny grinned. "Although I should've known something was fishy since that one night in the kitchens. I mean, Draco Malfoy in flannel pajamas?" 

"Cotton-polyester," Draco muttered darkly. 

"And pink bunny slippers," sneered Ginny. Draco glared. She was getting too cocky. 

"You know you talk an awful lot," said Draco, looking stern. 

Ginny blushed, suddenly looking embarrassed. "I know," she said, chuckling a bit. "My brothers are always complaining about what a big mouth I have." 

Draco's left eye twitched. Oh come on, his mind reasoned with him, she's practically asking for it! His eyes twinkled mischievously. "I think your mouth is fine." Then he leaned forward. 

Ginny blinked at him. She was leaning back, with wide eyes and an open mouth. His lips were so close to her's that one more nudge and he would've been kissing her. But he saw her eyes. Large and brown, like the shade of chocolate. So full of youth and innocence. 

Something inside Draco churned. She still had her innocence. Draco had been so void of his for so long, he wondered if he ever had innocence to begin with. But she still had her's. She was still a child. Fragile like a flower that could wilt at the touch of something as grave as himself, whose hands had been stained with the blood of his own father. He couldn't bare to stain her hands as well. 

Draco sighed. He felt so very tired. Slowly, he lowered his head, causing his hair to fall over his eyes like a waterfall of silver. 

Ginny watched him curiously. Within the span of 20 seconds she had seen Draco's face twist into different emotions, each new expression contradicting the latter. It was, quite possibly, the most open she had ever seen him be. 

"Draco?" came her small and uncertain voice. When he didn't reply, her hand impulsively landed on his shoulder, and she called him with uncertainty. "Draco?" she tried again, wondering why he was acting so strangely. Then — without so much as a signal or hint — Draco crept closer, filled the tiny space between them, and held her, letting the silence and warmth be his only answer.   
  
  
  


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_Chapter Sixteen; In which secrets are revealed, Blaise gets vicious, and Dumbledore's actually WRONG?!_

  
  
  


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**_Credits, thank you's, and excuses..._**  
*makes a face* Does anyone else notice how much dialogue I use? @_#; Oy, I'm going to have to work on that... Anyhoo, the little diddy Draco said to Blaise somewhere in the beginning ("b-otch") was a quote from a trailer of an anime show I saw called 'GTO' or... something like that. Um, the "gravity" comment Draco said to Ginny is from the outstanding HP fic called "The Draco Trilogy"; if you haven't read those yet, I highly recommend that you do! 'Tis bloody brilliant. Oh, and five chocolate frogs to the person who can guess what the engravement on the Mirror says. =P And before anyone goes flaming me in the reviews, I realize that Ginny connecting Draco with "someone she used to love" (i.e. TOM), is a bit overdone. It'll all be resolved in the next chapter, so keep your shirt on. (Unless you happen to be Tom Felton, so in that case, disregard what I just said and take pictures. =^^=) 

Also, can't forget to gives thanks to my reviewers! I'd get all corny here and say how much you guys brighten my day with your words of encouragement, but I've got chapters to finish writing! And FYI, I've got summer school and a vacation coming up so I want to apologize before hand if Ch. 16 takes longer than usual, kidok? ^^; 

**Joya** (you can expect the bugs and the leather pants to return soon! ;D), **Eiko** (awe, 'Ko, it's okay; I know how much you LOVE Draco *grins*), **Robyn Maddison** (I'm so thrilled by your words, honestly I am! I hope the fic turns out worthy of your praise), **Beth** (yes, I haven't given up, and never will, unless I were to suddely be hit in the head by a large boulder and lost all sense of writing; as it's not likely, then you'll know this fic will end sooner or later), **ThePixieDustPoet** ('course I'd mention you! I can never have enough love for my reviewers, and I'll see what I can do about those sexy descriptions. ;D), and **dracos-gurl** (you're much too kind! I can't tell you what an ego-boost that was! *hugs*) 

Much Love,  
Jonah (bad-faith.net) 

Ahah! I see your mouse hovering over that review button! What are you waiting for? Click, I say! _Click_! 


	16. The Past, The Plan, and The Premonition

**_Note:_** Ah, we finally earn the PG-13 rating! Some coarse language (more than usual, anyway) and subtle (very subtle, actually) sexual connotations up ahead. You have been warned! Oh, and I got over of my weird dialogue habit! The format looks much better now, doesn't it? More descriptive, and whatnot. *beams proudly for a moment* Okay, enough with that. On with Chapter 16...   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**Chapter Sixteen: The Past, The Plan, and The Premonition**   
There was a long and pregnant pause. The world Hermione saw through her newly gifted eyes swirled and distorted, effectively giving her one hell of a headache. She groaned and instinctively clutched her head. 

"Control it," she heard Dumbledore say from somewhere far away. "Focus on the boys and Ginny. Find them." 

"_I can't_," Hermione gasped, as she felt a sharp pain shoot through her right eye. "_They're not together! The rooms won't stay still it — it hurts too much..._" Then suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder. The feeling itself seemed to soothe her mind, but her eyes were still throbbing like mad. 

"Try this then," he told her calmly, making sure to say each word carefully so she'd understand. "Focus on Voldemort — concentrate on his soul." Hermione sighed, and slowly brought her hands down. She screwed her eyes tightly, focusing every ounce of her energy and might into locating Voldemort — why though, she had no clue. But there was no use arguing with the Headmaster. Slowly, the chaos of colors and images she saw began to take shape and focus. And suddenly, she was in a bedroom again. Though Harry and Ron were no where in sight. Instead, she saw a flash of a silver head, huddling close against a head of scarlet. It was as if she was watching a movie in fast forward, as she was suddenly brought down to get a very clear close-up of a familiar pale and pointy face... 

She gasped suddenly, as a hand flew up to cover her gaping mouth. She didn't have to say anything, for Dumbledore already knew. As surprised as he was, he could not help but smile. 

And so he was wrong...   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"_Pansy_?" Harry's eyes couldn't get any bigger. At the very mention of her name, he was automatically brought back to his time spent in the dingy Potions classroom, having to spend hours listening to little Pansy's annoying tittering. But the woman who stood proudly before him was not the same Pansy Parkinson he knew. No, she was no longer little, and while there were still traces of her pug-like face visible beneath the extensive amount of make-up she wore, her body by all means compensated for it. 

Now Harry was never a man to go for bodily appearances, not since the Cho Chang fiasco, but as Pansy stood before him, his eyes couldn't help but trace her long white legs which were clearly visible through the slit in her black gown. The gown itself was a bit of a scandal, with it's low-cut, off-the-shoulder top, impossibly tight body that seemed to give her bosom an extra heave, and flowing rivers of black velvet that only accented the pure white of her ivory legs. He was _quite_ certain Pansy had never looked like that when they were still in school. Harry was clearly not the only one who noticed Pansy's drastic change, as he heard Ron give out a low whistle from beside him. 

Pansy's face contorted into a smug grin upon seeing the goggling looks Harry and Ron were giving her. She strutted around proudly, being extra careful to sway her lips and puff out her chest as she did so. Her grin grew when she heard the choking noises Ron was making. She turned to Harry and bent down before him so her hands were on her knees, and her chest only a few inches away from Harry's nose. She mentally noted the hurried glance down her dress before Harry forced his eyes to burrow into hers. 

"The famous Harry Potter," she said in greeting. She shot the man beside him a contemptuous look. "Ron," she said, her voice dripping with disgust. Ron, having forgotten his earlier attraction, growled his reply. She grinned again and, having felt her job was done, turned back to Harry. "Well well," she said, her dark eyes giving her glee away. She straightened up and began to pace in front of them. "I can't say I was expecting you two to be here, but," she stopped and strode towards Harry, "now that you are, I must say how thrilled I am." 

"Afraid I can't say I feel the same," Harry said impassively. 

Pansy put on a dark grin. "You're getting rather cocky," she said, sounding slightly impressed. "Have you finally gotten yourself a backbone?" 

Harry didn't even blink. He'd gotten too much field practice with Malfoy to be moved by Pansy's little taunts. "Unlike you," he said, his tone even, "I'm using what's naturally mine." 

Pansy's anger flared. She puffed her chest out indignantly, and regarded Harry for a moment before finally breaking out into another grin. She bent down before him, conveniently positioning herself so that her bosom was in Harry's direct field of vision. She used a long and delicate finger to lift Harry's chin. Harry lowered his dark brows menacingly, though his eyes remained void of any emotion. Pansy only grinned. 

"I can't tell you how long I've waited for this," she said in a husky breath, and before anyone could do or say anything, she covered Harry's mouth with hers and successfully had the Boy Who Lived in a passionate liplock. 

And it was a horrid kiss too. Pansy literally groped Harry's mouth, using her tongue as a sort of prodding stick to examine every one of his teeth, then shoot it down his throat, as if the thought of her mouth on his was bad enough. She used her hands to pin either one of his arms against the wall, though she needn't have to as he could barely move. Try as he might to muffle out his objections to the invasion of his personal space, Pansy just couldn't take the hint. She continued to feel around his mouth, and when that area got too tedious, she settled for an area due more south. _Way_ south. 

"Hey!" he intended to shout, though it ended up sounding more like a "Hmrehy!" He mustered up as much strength as he could to try and kick Pansy off of him (she had settled herself on his lap after the first few minutes of intense kissing), but all he had managed to do was thrash his legs about weakly. 

Pansy, having appeared to have had her fill, finally ended the liplock, and breathed out a triumphant sort of sigh. The two men who had accompanied Pansy, whom Harry now realized was Crabbe and Goyle, each made faces of sheer disgust, though neither one of their faces compared to the one Ron had, who looked like he would be sick all over Pansy's gown very soon. 

Pansy chuckled at their gaping looks, then shook her head. "Pardon me for my rudeness," she said silkily, giving Harry a meaningful look, "but you must understand what a school girl dream of mine that had been. Kissing the Boy Who Lived — wait 'til I tell Blaise..." She smiled sweetly, and pushed herself off of Harry's lap to come face to face with Crabbe and Goyle. (Actually, considering that both men towered over her, even with her heels on, it was more like 'face to chest'.) 

"Speaking of whom," she said to the men, "go run off and tell her that she can begin." Harry heard her chuckle dryly. "The potion should be taking it's full effect now, and there's no reason that I should be the only one to have a little fun..." 

Both Crabbe and Goyle gave her dubious looks, sending Harry meaningful looks before turning back to her. Harry heard Pansy's exasperated scoff and was quite sure she was rolling her eyes just then as she said, "I'm not going to do that again! _Honestly_! Just go on and tell Blaise, okay?" The last of her words came out in strained irritation. 

Still looking doubtful, Crabbe and Goyle slowly made their way out of the room. Once they were gone, Pansy's frustration turned to joy. She turned back to her two guests and happily jumped unto the nearby loveseat. She just smiled at them. 

"What do you want with us?" Harry heard Ron ask, and Pansy cackled. 

"Absolutely nothing," she said with utmost sincerity. Then, in a hushed, more secretive voice, she added, "It's not _you_ we want."   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
He was hugging her. 

Ginny's eyes, if possible, widened even more. She thought for sure he would be kissing her. She'd heard her share of rumors when she was in school. Draco "Trigger Lips" Malfoy. If the rumors were true, they'd already be in a compromising position, with their bodies radiating the kind of passionate heat she'd only read about in those Muggle romance novels. 

But no. Draco was _hugging_ her. Actually and genuinely hugging her. He didn't even try to unhook her bra strap, which was a mere two inches from where his hands lay. He wasn't pulling a move on her or anything. He was just hugging her. And it wasn't even one of those intense hugs, where he would hold on to her like their very lives depended on their bodies together. No... He just held her. Like a mother would her baby — like he was protecting her. Confused and slightly disappointed, she wrapped her arms around Draco and hugged him back. They sat there on the bed of a candle-lit room, holding each other as gently as they could, with their bodies radiating a different kind of heat; a sort of comforting warmth that made her feel safe, that nothing bad could ever happen as long as he held her. 

She had felt this warmth before, in the cold hands of Tom Riddle. But the security he gave her was illusionary. He'd spun her lies and promised her dreams he never planned on fulfilling. Draco was the honest truth, as brutal as the truth can be. Tom had been cold and vicious, years of evil ahead of his age. Charm and wisdom were his weapons. Vulnerability was nonexistent. Draco, on the other hand, had to grow up in the worst of ways. Beneath his cold and blank exterior screamed a child needing to be loved. Tom lied and cheated for power. Draco lied and cheated for recognition and hope. Tom was poised and determined. Draco was just lost and confused. 

No, Ginny thought as she pulled Draco closer. He was _nothing_ like Tom. Because, unlike the handsome, raven-haired bastard she now oh-so-affectionately called 'the handsome, raven-haired bastard', her feelings for Draco were stronger, if not foggier and more complex. Then came the tears. She was no stranger to tears, and normaly she'd use all of her energy to resist. But now she welcomed them with open arms. Tears cleansed the soul, she'd heard, though she doubted any whirlpool of tears would cleanse a soul such as her's. No, she'd gone too far, done too many evils. And yet... 

Her eyes strayed towards the man who was soundlessly holding her. Compared to Draco, her soul must've looked spotless. She closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. She shouldn't be thinking of him that way. Sure, Draco's done his share of evils, but he's changed. ... Hasn't he? 

Her eyes unwillingly opened and she found herself glancing at Draco again. The tears had stopped flowing moments ago, so she no longer had to blink to be able to focus her line of vision. But of course, she could only see the top of his head, as he was nestling his forehead on the crook of her neck. She suddenly felt the hot release of his breath on her chest, and she wondered just how long he had been doing that without her knowing so. She would certainly have remembered the little chill her spine would get whenever he did so. 

She shook her head again, making sure she didn't knock Draco's head when she did so. Stop thinking that way, she told herself forcefully. Great Godric, here she was, in possibly one of the most terrifying situations of her life, and all she could think about was how _hot_ the room was suddenly getting? 

She sighed. She _really_ needed to get her priorities straight. But who could blame her, really? She _was_ seventeen afterall... She shook her head again, this time out of pure shame. Biting the bottom of her lip, she gingerly rotated her neck as she felt the not-so-welcome cramp advancing. That's when she realized that Draco was no longer hugging her. Or holding her for that matter. Sure, he still had his arms wrapped around her, but he was more like _leaning_ on her. Then, as if one cue, came the muffled noises of Draco's snores — though they were too soft and elegant to be called 'snores'. She pursed her lips in irritation and wondered how long he had been sleeping. She didn't bother to take too much time to think on it for the weight of the older, much larger boy was quickly getting to her, and she greatly feared the kind of cramps her neck would encounter if she let the man drape his arms over her any longer. 

With her left hand, she gently pushed him off of her, effectively catching him with her other arm. She squirmed around underneath him, so that his head was laying peacefully atop her lap. She gingerly crossed her legs beside her, and leaned on her left arm while she absentmindedly twirled around a few strands of Draco's hair with her other hand. 

She noticed almost immediately the sudden change in his appearance. His pallor had definitely increased since she last laid eyes on him — and she highly doubted it had been that long — so much so that he looked nearly translucent. There were dark circles around his eyes — nothing too worrying, as he'd had those circles for a long while now, but their depth and color seemed to heighten. He was sweating as well, which was odd considering the vibe she got from Draco was no longer warmth, but sheer coldness. Ginny's worry seemed to sky rocket as she took a closer look at him. He looked so skinny — so _unhealthy_. He certainly didn't look like this a few moments ago. What could've happened in such a short time to make his appearance look not only battered, but near death as well? 

Frowning, she stopped playing with his hair to feel his forehead. 

Then she felt it — traveling through his veins like a serpent, working and weaving its way in and out of his heart. The freezing aura it sent off was so strong, that if Ginny hadn't known better, she would've thought it was slithering inside herself. The horrible truth had already hit her, but she simply refused to believe it. Though it was all in vain. She'd been training under Snape long enough to know... Pallor, low temperature, perspiration — all common side-effects of a powerful poison. 

Her bottom lip quivered as she sent the man snoozing on her lap a pleading look. "Oh, Merlin, no," she gasped, struggling to fight the tears that she no longer welcomed. "No... You can't," she whispered, her voice wavering as she struggled to push past her sobs. But there was no use denying it. Draco was dying. She knew this, deep down, but she refused to allow herself to believe it, because if he was dying, she would never be able to tell him how she felt. Because it was at that moment, of all times, that she truly realized — as illogical as it sounded. She didn't even feel the regret she initially thought she would when she finally spoke the words. 

"I... love you..." 

Suddenly there was a loud choking noise. Ginny's eyes snapped open at the foreign sound, and she stared wide-eyed at the man laying on her lap, only to be met with even wider gray eyes. Ginny's mind seemed to explode with panic. How long had he been awake?! From the astonished look he was giving her, she figured long enough to hear her effectively shoving her large foot into her even larger mouth. 

Her breathing quickened as Draco's wide eyes continued to stare up at her, searching her face for sincerity. She had to do something — anything! So she swore. With a passion, too. She practically flung out every swear word she knew, and some she didn't. If it had been another, less serious time, she would've been impressed with her vivid imagery. 

When she ended her little tirade, Draco just blinked. Probably too stunned to even comprehend the things she had just said. Slowly, his mouth formed an 'O' shape and his brows blended together — all of which Ginny had no doubt were the beginnings of a question. 

"_What_?" he finally got out. 

Ginny inwardly groaned. She hated being right. She took a deep breath, and prompt ignored his question. "You're alive," she said, feigning innocence. Draco didn't seem to be very impressed by this, as he sent her an impatient, withering look. 

"Why wouldn't I be alive?" he asked pompously, forcing Ginny to roll her eyes. He sounded too much like Percy for his own good. 

"Because you've been drugged, you idiot," she said hotly, muttering the last part under her breath. Unfortunately for her, Draco still heard it. He scowled — though not as sternly as he usually did, something Ginny found a bit odd — and huffed angrilly. 

"I have not been drugged," he said with conviction, though he could not suppress the shiver that passed through his body as he did so. Ginny saw right through it, and, in case Draco did not catch her dubious look, rolled her eyes for better effect. Then something inside Draco snapped — though not literally. He suddenly turned to Ginny, and said, in the accusing manner of a five-year old, "Hey! You dodged my question!" 

Ginny sent him an innocent smile. "What question?" she asked. 

Draco actually growled, giving Ginny a not-so pleasant view of his upper canines. Her smile faltered just a tad, but nevertheless, she stood her ground. "You said something just as I woke up," he enunciated every syllable, so Ginny wouldn't have any excuse like she didn't understand. 

Ginny sighed. She just decided to just flow with it — what else could she do? "I love you," she said, plastering a sweet smile across her face. Her straight-forwardness obviously came as a shock to Draco, as his brows shot up a few notches. She watched his eyelids flutter open drop shut with such speed that she wondered if he was doing it intentionally or not. Draco seemed to have a difficulty processing this new information, so Ginny decided to stay quiet and wait. It would apparently be a long wait, as Draco's struggling didn't seem to falter. 

"_Why_?" he practically shouted, so suddenly that Ginny nearly jumped in surprise. 

"Why what?" she asked him as she inwardly cooed her heartbeat to slow down. 

Draco seemed to be having trouble getting the words out. "Why do you — you know..." 

Ginny tilted her head to the side, clearly not comprehending. Draco sighed in exasperation. "You know!" he said, wishing he could gesture with his hands (but then again, what sort of gesture could he do?). Ginny still hadn't gotten it, so Draco rolled his eyes. "The 'L' word," he said, in barely a whisper. 

Ginny frowned. He acted like even mentioning the word was something forbidden. Then she found herself shrugging. Who knows? she thought idly, perhaps for a Malfoy, it is. She shook her head at his childish behavior anyway, and said, in a loud and clear voice, "You mean _love_?" 

Draco glared at her, looking scandalous. Ginny rolled her eyes and frowned down at him. "Goodness, Draco!" she said, putting her hands on her hips — which was really a lot more difficult to do, as Draco was still laying on her lap. But she did it anyways, for added effect of her frustration with him. "You act like it's something bad!" 

Draco's eyes immediately darkened, and his expression grew grave. "It can be," he said, in such a serious voice that he surprised Ginny. "It's not something you take lightly. Love's a strong word, Ginny. It's heavy with strings of promise and obligation. When you love somebody, you let your guard down and openly welcome that person into your heart. That's how pain arises." 

Ginny gaped at him. She had never heard anyone — let alone Draco Malfoy — talk about love with such... hatred and regret. She found herself fighting the urge to hug the man, for she felt he was in serious need of one. His childhood must've been really fucked up. 

"You're right," she told him firmly, intentionally staring deep into his dark, gray eyes. Draco looked up at her with a slight hint of surprise. "Love _does_ bring pain. But without the pain, Draco, you'd never know what true happiness is..." 

Draco gave her a long, calculating look. Then he turned away, half-closing his eyelids as he said, in a low and hollow voice, "I still don't." 

Ginny frowned, but not out of frustration or anger, but pure sadness and empathy for Draco. "Then let me show you," she said softly, looking down at him with pleading eyes. Draco looked up at her, his eyes slightly widened, and looked as if he didn't know what to say. After a few tense moments, he opened his mouth to say something, then the door of the room swung open. Draco shut his mouth almost immediately, and followed Ginny's gaze towards the doorway. 

Rosa stood there, completely oblivious that she had just ruined such an important moment. Ginny noticed right away the change in Rosa's attire. She wore velvet robes of burgundy and a matching cloak which was wrapped around her shoulders and fastened just above her chest with a silver emblem. The emblem itself was fascinating, with it's lush quality and design of a very realistic-looking serpent, wrapping around a crystal 'M', but the thing that fascinated Ginny most was that Rosa actually looked _decent_. She displayed no cleavage what-so-ever, not even a little bit of leg. Her whole body was covered, save for her collar area and neck. 

But perhaps the most surprising to Ginny was the _look_ Draco was giving the intruder. A mix of recognition and utter confusion, almost as if he _knew_ her. Though the little gasping noises he was making gave Ginny the impression that he had trouble believing himself. Rosa's expression, on the other hand, looked downright pretentious. 

"_Mademoiselle Gwyn_?" Draco choked out, after finally getting up off of Ginny's lap to look at the woman square in the eye. 

Rosa grinned, tilting her head from side-to-side with such vigor that the river of raven-black hair she possessed swayed behind her. "_Oui, Monsieur Malfoy_," she replied, in flawless French. Draco visably paled. Ginny just frowned. Since when was Rosa French? Or "Mademoiselle Gwyn" for that matter? And was it just her, or was Rosa acting a tad bit more _mature_? 

Draco made even more noises, which sounded like they were originating from somewhere behind his throat. He was obviously struggling with Rosa's sudden appearance. Ginny's frown only grew as she looked from Draco, who finally seemed to have stopped the choking noises, and settled for flat-out gawking instead, to Rosa, who looked as calm and cool as ever. 

"Draco?" Ginny asked tentatively, as he began to look as if he had just seen a ghost. She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and shook him gently, eventually snapping him out of his daze. He blinked at her a few times, before turning back to Rosa. 

"I don't understand...," Draco said slowly, shaking his head. "You died." 

Ginny's brows jumped up in surprise as Rosa threw her head back in laughter. The very vibe of it sent chills running down Ginny's spine. "It was rather brilliant, wasn't it?" Rosa said between chuckles, not one hint of a French accent in her tone. She was grinning like mad. "It was your father's idea, really. Count it as a life's lesson. And you, of all people, needed to be taught dearly." 

Ginny looked at Draco to see his reaction to this. Surprisingly, he said nothing. Save for a few spots of pink donning his cheeks, he looked unruffled. "Draco?" Ginny asked again, tugging on his shirt sleeve and moving closer. Draco shook his head roughly, looking every bit of confused. 

"Mademoiselle Gwyn was my _au paire_," Draco said, crinkling his brows thoughtfully. Ginny was rather rusty on her French customs, but she knew enough to know what an _au paire_ was. That's what Rosa meant when she said she knew more about Draco than Ginny did, she thought listlessly. Draco shook his head once more. "My father killed you," he said to Rosa, who only continued to grin. 

Ginny looked at Draco. The look in his face was of nothing but bewilderment, though there was something in his eyes... Pain? But before Ginny could voice her assumptions, Rosa had begun to speak again. 

"That," she said carefully, "is where you are wrong. Your father never killed me, Draco. I was barely even an _au paire_." Her grin grew triumphant and proud. "It was all a scam — all of it." 

Draco seemed to be dreading the answer of his next question. "Why?" 

"You needed to be taught what pain felt like," she said simply, her grin no longer around. Instead, she looked void of any emotion. "The heart is the weakest part of the human, Draco. You had to be taught to rise above it's desires. You needed to be stronger." 

Draco didn't answer. He displayed nothing to suggest it, but Ginny could just tell that Rosa's last statement hurt him, whether he knew it or not. So Rosa had been Draco's au paire, he'd gotten close to her, then somewhere down the line, his father had her "killed". Just to show Draco that caring for someone is weak. If Lucius Malfoy were still alive, Ginny would've killed him herself. That rotten bastard. 

"You should've seen the way you'd look at me, with those wide and admiring gray eyes of yours," Rosa continued, looking vindictive. "You trusted me so much — you'd tell me everything. Your secrets. Your fears... Your dreams." She scoffed, giving Draco one of the dirtiest looks Ginny had ever seen. "And what idiotic dreams you had." 

Draco visibly stiffened as Rosa stepped closer, neither one of them taking their eyes off the other. "Poor child," Rosa said acidly. "You'll never be Minister of Magic, or Seeker of the Chudley Cannons. You'll never grow up with the respect your father had. And no one will _ever_ truly love you." 

Ginny blanched. No wonder he didn't believe her, she thought sadly. No wonder... 

"How did you do it?" he asked her finally. Ginny saw that he was clenching and unclenching his fists on either side of him. She held one his hands in what she hoped he would take as a comforting gesture. He looked back at her in surprise, but Ginny was looking at Rosa expectantly. 

"Faking a death is not very hard," Rosa answered. "Your father had it planned all along. He's a master of Dark Arts, so pulling it off was nothing short of a magic trick." 

Draco shook his head again. "But you look just as you did when I was seven..." 

Rosa's face brightened. "That's where my many talents came in handy." She looked at Ginny gleefully. "I had already explained to Ginny, here, but I suppose I could do with a bit of a demonstration." And before anyone could blink, her face began to contort into a new face — that of the old lady Rosa, complete with the horrid purple and green floral disaster she wore when she had kidnapped Ginny. 

"Bitch," Draco growled, as realization dawned on him. It came a lot quicker to him than it had to Ginny, as he had practically memorized all of his Hogwarts texts. "You mean you'd been spying on me since I left?" he asked angrilly, catching Ginny off guard. She had never heard him speak so vehemently — not even to Harry. 

The old Rosa nodded, looking so innocent with her old-lady smile. "I had to," she replied, in an old and shaky voice. "Someone had to keep tabs on you, what with you moving out of the Manor and everything. I gotta tell you, though," Rosa added, snickering slightly as she quickly transformed back to her real — or what Ginny was pretty sure was her real — form, "you are one hell of a flirt." 

Draco growled deeper, and he unknowingly tightened his grip on Ginny's hand. "'Keep tabs on me'?" he echoed. "What the hell for?" 

At this, Rosa smiled innocently (as innocently as a wench like her could, anyway). "That's for me to know, and for you to find out." She made her way out the door, when she turned around suddenly to stare pointedly at Draco. "But I _will_ tell you this," she said, almost eagerly. "Not _all_ dreams are idiotic." And then she left. 

Silence. 

Ginny turned to Draco, only to see that he was staring at the door with a murderous look on his face. She wanted to say something — anything to make him feel better. But what could she say? What could _anyone_ say? But he needed to know, she told herself. He needed to know that she truly did love him. 

"Draco, I — " 

But she never got to finish her sentence, for the door had swung open once again. But it wasn't Rosa this time. It was Blaise, wearing a very pretty emerald gown and one of the deadliest looks Ginny had ever seen.   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
The atmosphere in the office only seemed to have tensed since he had been there last, and that was saying something, considering he'd just been there the day before. He supposed he should've known something was up, as the Granger girl was still in the office, despite the fact that it was early Sunday morning and that she no longer lived at the school. That and the odd look in her eyes, like she was staring at something far away, without really looking at anything all. Something was definitely up. 

"Ah, Severus," the Headmaster greeted. He looked unnaturaly upbeat, but then again, he almost often did. "So glad you could join us on such short notice." He motioned for Snape to have a seat while he fumbled with something in one of his desk drawers. With a boyish grin on his face, he pulled out a small bowl of colorful licorice and held it out to Snape in offering. When Shape said nothing, Dumbledore shrugged and happily began to nibble on one. 

Snape's patience grew thin. "Headmaster, I imagine there's a reason you've called me here," he said quickly, hiding the frustration in his tone while he rubbed at his arm. He shot the girl beside him a weird look. "And why is she staring at me?" 

Dumbledore smiled, giving Hermione a fond look before answering Snape's question. "You're right on one of your assumptions, Severus, there _is_ a reason you're here." He paused to bite off a large piece of the licorice in his hands, then replied thickly, "but Miss Granger is not staring at you." 

Snape was quite used to the Headmaster's obscurities, so his patience hadn't left him entirely. But he could very well argue with the older man's last statement, as Granger was clearly gawking at him. She occupied the only other seat in the office, though she was barely sitting on it as her bum looked to be right on the edge. She was hunching over and breathing rather rapidly. She was sweating as well — so much, in fact, that Snape wondered why he never noticed it before. Her eyes were open wide, though they had a hollow sort of look to them. He gave the man before him an uncertain look. Surely someone as wise and experienced as Dumbledore would've noticed the suffering Granger was going through. But Dumbledore seemed quite content on devouring the licorice in his hand to notice. 

"Headmaster — " Snape began, but was cut off as the Granger girl spoke up. 

"_The shape-shifter left but now there's someone else with them..._" 

Or, at least he _thought_ it was Granger. The words came out of her mouth without a doubt as her lips moved to the syllables. But the voice she spoke with was not of her own. It hardly sounded human to Snape. With a questioning brow quirked up, Snape turned back to the Headmaster, who seemed to have finally finished with his licorice and was now staring at Hermione with interest. 

"Do you know who it is?" Dumbledore asked calmly. Hermione shook her head. 

"_No_," she said, frowning in disappointment. "_The image is too blurry, but she's got red hair. She's doing something with her wand..._" 

Slowly, Snape began to piece it all together. The blank look, the perspiration, the unsteady breathing, the weird, unhuman voice — she was using the Sight. But how? Snape wondered, and was met with a small, secretive smile from Dumbledore. Snape's brows shot straight up into his greasy hair. Dumbledore had given her the Sight! While the magic itself was not permanent, it was still powerful enough to drain the energy right out of you. Snape had known Dumbledore enough to know that the old man would never intentionally put another life at risk for any reason, so why was he willingly risking putting the Granger girl into a coma? 

Snape turned back to the man before him and instantly tensed. Dumbledore's face no longer housed his small smile, or any smile for that matter. Instead he looked grave, downright regretful. The little hairs on Snape's arm stood up as he began to get that feeling in his stomach. The same feeling he had many years ago, when Dumbledore had asked him to go back to the Death Eaters. The feeling that something terrible was about to happen. 

Almost hesitantly, he spoke up. "Headmaster?" he croaked, as if it was the first time he'd ever used his voice. Dumbledore slowly brought his eyes down to stare at a black inkspot on his desk. No words were needed — Snape already knew. He knew the instant he stepped into the office, when his arm began to burn. 

A loud, sobbing scream suddenly filled the room. Hermione fell off the chair as she struggled to keep her weeping in control while she relayed the events. The two men in the room immediately stood up. It was hard to make out what she was saying, but they had managed to make out enough words to draw up an assumption. 

The critical words being "Draco", "Ginny", and "torture".   
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"Can't you people just leave me alone?!" Draco shouted, throwing his hands into the air. He was giving Blaise a frustrated look, hoping she'd take the hint and leave. Unfortunately for him, Blaise was never really that bright. She gave him a withering look, and held up a delicate hand to deliver a rude gesture. Draco had no problem returning it. He watched her with hawk-like eyes as she began to sashay her way towards the bed, though every second or so his eyes would unfocus. But his eyes were the least of his worries — Blaise was already bending over the edge of the bed. 

"Lovely seeing you again," Blaise said casually as she propped her elbows on the foot of the bed, elegantly holding her chin with her hands. Her sickeningly sweet smile flipped downward into a playful pout. "I'm only sorry it had to be at such a horrid time." 

"I'm sure," Draco replied, his tone practically redefining the word 'sarcasm'. 

Blaise giggled childishly. "Oh, Draco," she said playfully, "you're such the charmer." Then suddenly she got serious — as serious as Blaise could get, anyway. "I suppose you're thrilled to know your charms have worked again," she said, staring pointedly at Ginny, who did her best to look unmoved. 

Draco snarled. "Leave her out of it," he said defensively, and thrust out an arm between the two girls. "You got me already — she doesn't need to be here anymore." Ginny looked at him. He and Blaise were having some sort of staring showdown, and neither one looked like they'd be backing down anytime soon. But he was thinking of her — protecting her. Knowing that was enough to make her feel safe. 

Blaise, on the other hand, wasn't buying his act of heroism. "Don't be stupid, Draco," she said dryly. She seemed to be running out of patience. "Do you honestly think we'd have her here if we didn't need her?" 

"Yes," Draco answered simply, his expression impassive. Slowly, he lowered his arm until his hand fell unto Ginny's. He did not grasp her hand, though. He just left his hand there, sitting calmly on top of hers. Ginny tried not to let this simple gesture affect her so much, but there was no arguing with her accelerating heartbeat. 

Blaise actually snorted. "Spare me your sentimental crap," she snapped bitterly, pointedly avoiding Ginny's eyes. "Not everything is about you, Draco — as hard as that is for you to believe. We need her just as much as we need you." 

Draco changed tactics as quicker than either of them could blink. "What _do_ you want with us?" 

At this, Blaise scoffed. "You'd have to be dumber than I thought if you think I'd tell you," she replied viciously. 

Draco rolled his eyes. "Then what the hell are you doing here?" he asked, feeling his patience run thin. 

"You'll know soon enough," Blaise answered evenly. She was staring at him, waiting. Then she rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Honestly, Draco, where's your sense of adventure? Can't you just play along?" 

"Play along?" Draco shouted, looking hysterical. "Are you out of your mind, Blaise?! You've committed a felony — _times four_!" He paused, suddenly looking serious. "If somebody dies, it's lifetime in Azkaban for you." 

But Blaise just rolled her eyes and waved a dismissive hand in the air. "Azkaban doesn't scare me," she said honestly. She stared at Draco intently, almost disbelievingly. "Azkaban and death are the least of my problems." She shook her head at Draco's curious cocked brow. "Draco, don't you know? Can't you _feel_ it?" 

"Feel what?" Draco asked slowly, almost dreading the answer. 

"The Dark Lord," she answered, without any hint of hesitation or struggle. "He's coming..." 

Now Draco knew she was mad. He felt Ginny shiver beside him, and he unconsciously wrapped his hand around hers. He shook his head at Blaise, though he never tore his eye away from her. "Blaise, you need help. Voldemort is _dead_ — " Blaise winced as he spoke this " — and he's not coming back. He can't save your neck for this, Blaise. Don't do this. You can still get away." 

Ginny looked at him in surprise. After all that Blaise had done, he was still willing to let the woman go? Feeling slightly dejected, Ginny glanced from one to the other; they were staring at each other with such intensity that Ginny might as well have not been there. Draco looked determined, almost pleading while Blaise simply looked exasperated and miffed. 

"You don't understand," Blaise said throatily. She finally looked away from Draco to stare at the ground instead. "I can't believe you don't understand..." 

Draco sighed. "What don't I understand?" 

Blaise jerked her head up to look at him. Once again, Ginny felt she was invisible. Draco still held her hand protectively, but Blaise was in his mind — not herself. In the back of her mind, Ginny wondered if it'd always be like that with him... 

Blaise's eyes glistened with unwept tears. "The Dark Lord may be dead physically," she said, in barely a whisper, "but not spiritually." She let out a sad chuckle. "You've had Divination, Draco, you know how death works. The body never leaves the physical world, it's their soul that travels — " 

"_The soul wanders, searching for their purpose now lost, and waiting for deliverance_," Draco interjected, quoting one of his Divination texts. He shook his head at the other woman's lunacy. "Yes, yes, but what does that to do with Voldemort's return?" 

Blaise smiled; it was a sad smile. "The Dark Lord's soul never found deliverance," she said softly. "He made sure of that." She suddenly looked proud, like a mother would after their child overcomes stage fright. "He's a genius, really. Before the final battle against Potter, he cast a spell on himself; it was tricky little thing, and many of us are still not quite clear on the details of it, but we do know that the spell would harness his soul — should he die — and keep it from moving on." 

"Okay," Draco said absently; it was obvious he wasn't really processing it by the lack of shock in his voice. 

Blaise frowned, slightly put off by Draco's behavior. He acted as if he didn't care at all what happened to the world, though Blaise would never put it past him to think so. She cleared her throat haughtily. "To do that," she continued, as if Draco had never replied, "his soul needed a vessel — a temporary home until the day of his release would come; which is conveniently a day away. After a simple little ceremony, his soul will be awakened and he'll take his place as our leader once again." She paused, suddenly looking chipper. "Do you know who he chose, Draco?" 

There was no answer. Blaise smiled spitefully at his silence. Draco was not stupid, she knew he already knew so saying it was pointless. Though that didn't stop her from actually saying it; she wouldn't dare strip herself away from such fun. 

"He chose you," she said softly, almost in disbelieving awe. "Of all people, _you_ were the one he wanted." She chuckled slightly, and dipped her hand into an inner pocket of her gown. "I thought for sure you knew. We left you hints and everything." Slowly, she drew her hand out. 

There was a sharp intake of breath; Draco kept unusually calm but Ginny was shaking like a leaf. In Blaise's hand was Tom Riddle's diary; still old and battered with a large hole in the middle and red stains enveloping the leather bound cover. Almost immediately had she laid eyes on the book was Ginny subjected to visions of her time in the Chamber. Draco felt her draw back in fear and gave her hand a comforting squeeze. 

Blaise giggled. She looked absolutely joyous. "The Dark Lord lives in you," she said to Draco, grinning like a maniac. "Isn't that wonderful?" 

Draco gave her a dry look. "Wonderful, indeed," he replied without the slightest hint of enthusiasm. "I had always _dreamed_ of having a mad man's soul rejuvenating inside me, and now I can finally die happy." 

"What happens to Draco's soul?" Ginny asked, speaking up for the first time. Blaise looked at her like she had just noticed her presence in the room. Ginny frowned angrilly at this, but she kept her mouth shut for Blaise's reply. 

She shrugged offhandedly, not really paying attention to the question. "I suppose it takes the place of the Dark Lord's soul and moves on." 

Draco let out an exasperated sound and looked deadpan. "That's just great. I mean, isn't that just kick-you-in-the-crotch, spit-on-your-neck _fantastic_?" 

Blaise frowned, once again put off by Draco's childish ignorance. "I don't think you quite understand the gravity of the situation here, Draco." She was begining to wonder about the Dark Lord's choice of host. "You're body's host to the Dark Lord's very soul! You should at least act honored. He chose you out of hundreds. I mean, your father was practically jumping for joy."

Draco snorted. "I doubt it. My father does _not_ jump." He glowered, staring intently at a spot on the bed spread in front of him. "And like his opinion means anything to me," he said in an empty tone, "I literally killed him for it." 

Both Blaise and Ginny winced. It would've been fine if he had made that comment if his tone was laced with malice or even bitterness, but instead it was void of any sort of emotion. Overall, it was very chilling to hear someone be so _empty_. 

"Draco," Blaise said with a hint of uncertainty. She was looking at him with sympathy, and the last thing he needed was her pity. 

"Fuck off, Blaise," he said. He was tired and really did not want to have to deal with her antics. "Go fuck a grindylow or something." 

Blaise's compassion for Draco vanished immediately. She scowled at him, holding her hands at her sides and shaking her arms with controlled anger. "You're a bastard, Draco," she said with so much hatred that Ginny nearly gasped. "You deserve what's coming to you." 

"What? Being kicked out of my own body by a self-loving bigot with a snake fetish?" 

Blaise clicked her tongue, and shook her head slowly. "For now, that's the least of your problems." 

By then, Draco had had enough with her obscure way of answering and was about to ask her what the hell she was talking about when he lost sight of her. It was like someone screwed with the colors of the spectrum, and everything turned a grungy sort of gray. He saw two dark blotches around him and figured they were Ginny and Blaise. Blinking proved to be pointless, as all it did was make everything foggier. 

Then suddenly it wasn't just his eyes that was bothering him when his chest gave a curious jolt. There was a shallow, twisting feeling near his heart like someone was literally tugging and wrenching it about. He wasn't even aware he was falling til his back made contact with the mattress. He heard Ginny scream and tried to call out to her when his vocal chords refused to function. Panicked, he tried to reach out for her but felt nothing but air. When everything began to go dark, an odd feeling of serenity washed over him, and all he could think about was his father, and how right he was. 

There _isn't_ a tunnel of light, Draco finally agreed, but an endless path of darkness.   
  
  
  


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Ooooh, I'm evil. >D I was planning on adding more but I'm totally jet-lagged and my mind hasn't left New York yet. Anyhoo, I'm sure everyone's over the OotP shock already, hmm? I must admit; I was highly disappointed with Draco's staticness. Poor Draco! There're only two more books left, if he doesn't show a _teensy_ bit of goodness in the next book, I'm afraid there'll be no more hope! *continues to sob and rant about the injustice of Draco's staticness for seven more hours* @_@; Oh well... There's always fandom, isn't there? ^^   
  
  
  
Teribly sorry for the long wait: **Joya**, **Headmaster Cromwell**, **Eiko**, **Alila**, **Madussa**, **Beth**, and **Hipogriff11**. Thanks for being so patient with me. ^^ You guys rock!   
  
  
  
_Chapter Seventeen: Draco's past, Blaise's potion, and Ginny's sacrifice._


	17. Memories Evoked

**_Note:_** So _totally_ AU if you read OotP. But then again, aren't all fics?   
  
  
  


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_These wounds won't seem to heal.  
This pain is just too real.  
There's so just so much that time can not erase._  
- "My Immortal", Evanescence   
  
  
**Chapter Seventeen: Memories Evoked**   
  
  
_It was a dark room. The only source of light came from a solitary oil lamp, which flickered in time with the invisible wind, that seemed to come from no where in particular. All around the room were bookshelves, which hid the blood red colored walls. The room held only one chair - a tall, throne-like piece with a regal 'M' precariously placed atop the headrest. It stood behind a large desk, made of the same oak, that was nearly the whole width of the room. _

There was a man occupying the chair, his hair gleaming against the lamp's light. His posture could only be described as 'perfection', and the rest of his bodily appearance coming dangerously close. His steely eyes bore a hole into the only other living occupant in the room: a scrawny little child of a tender seven years old. If it had not been for the hair and eyes, one would wonder if they were related or not. The boy hardly held himself as highly as his father did. 

"Do you know why you're here?" the older man asked, his words even and solid. The boy marveled at his father's voice - his tone held just the right amount of cold-cut emotion, without becoming too attached for anyone to sense a weakness. 

"No," the boy answered, feeling a great deal amount of shame for not having a tone like his father's. His father looked at him, his expression not having changed a bit. The boy could not help but flinch under the man's cold stare. 

"Do not be afraid," his father answered, though his voice held no trace of comfort. "I did not summon you here for discipline." 

Draco visibly relaxed, knowing very well the meaning of the term 'discipline' in the Malfoy house. "May I ask, then, what for?" Manners and etiquette also held a significant place within the family. 

"We need to talk," his father answered simply. He leaned back into his seat, just as Draco began to feel a strain in his skinny legs. "I've been away much," his father said slowly, as if reminiscing. "I can't say I really know you anymore," he continued, using the phrase loosely. 

Draco nodded. He was not exactly sure what to say, if he should at all. 

"You're growing fast, my son; I regret not being there to witness it." Again, Draco nodded. Better to keep silent, he thought. "There are things a boy can only learn from his father - important things. Do you understand?" 

Draco nodded his response, but frowned. He wondered where his father was getting at. 

"Life, for example," Lucius continued, "and death. Tell me, son, what do you think happens after one dies?" 

Draco started. His father summoned him to talk about death? He was only seven! "Uh," he said, slightly panicked. "I-I remember reading a book, about this hero who went to Heaven, and," he paused, frowning deeply, "and the bad guy went to Hell." He lowered his gaze to stare at his father's slender fingers which he placed over his desk. "Mother told me Hell was not a happy place… That people who went there spent an eternity on fire." 

He brought his eyes back up to stare at his father, almost in desperate hope. "Are there such places, father?" 

Lucius did not move. He kept a steady gaze with his son, not even blinking when Draco did. "Yes," he said, "and no." 

Draco lowered his brows in curiosity. "What do you mean?" 

"There is no Heaven," Lucius said bluntly. "Heaven is a myth - a fairytale parents tell their children to get them to behave. Heaven is not a place where the 'good guys' go, because, in truth, there are none. Everyone sins. Every person has an evil within them; some just refuse to accept it." He paused to let it sink in. He watched as his son swallowed, and struggled to remain standing. 

"But there is a Hell," he said. "That is where everybody descends to. The severity of their fire depends on the severity of their sins. But do not believe what they tell you, son," he said, not really clarifying who 'they' were. "It does not burn as harsh as they say it does." He steepled his fingers, gazing at his heir through livid eyes. 

"There is no light at the end of the tunnel, but an endless path of darkness. That is why the bad are better off than the good - their fires burn the brightest."   
  
  
  
Draco's eyes opened to the feeling of immense pain. His chest burned with a searing pain that seemed to strengthen with every heartbeat. He inhaled deeply, the mists of the unforgotten memory still very much alive in his mind. He was vaguely aware of the sound of weeping somewhere beside him. 

"G-Ginny," he croaked, his voice scratchy from pain. He motioned his hand helplessly in the air towards her direction. Within an instant he felt her hands wrap around his only, squeezing it tenderly. Her sobbing increased, though now from relief. 

"I," she gasped, "I thought you - " She hiccoughed, and shook from her desperate attempts to stop crying. 

"Shh," he told her, squeezing her hand gently. Slowly, he closed his eyes, and focused on tolerating the pain within him. He heard a swish of robes somewhere in front of him, and was reluctantly reminded of the _other_ occupant in the room. 

"Did you enjoy that, Draco?" Blaise asked scathingly, though her voice shook. It sounded as if she had been crying herself. "Tell me how much you enjoyed that." She sounded close enough to be right at the foot of the bed. 

"What - " he wheezed, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He paused to take a deep breath before attempting to ask again. 

"What did you do to me?" His eyes were still closed, but he was willing to bet that Blaise was smirking. 

"Just a handy little spell to pass the time, my sweet," said Blaise, sounding on edge. "Menisserum: one of the most advanced potions in the Dark Arts. After the Cruciatus Curse, you were knocked out for quite a while, so I chose that moment to slip you a bit. That right there was just a little signal telling me it's ready." 

By that time, Draco had opened his eyes and struggled into a sitting position. The spell sounded vaguely familiar, though he was not quite sure he'd want to figure out the true purpose of it. Ginny, on the other hand, did. 

"What does it do to him?" she sniffled, dropping Draco's hand to wipe the tears from her eyes. 

At that, Blaise grinned. "Let me show you," she said, and drew out her wand. A thin, threadlike substance shot out of it, and slithered through the air to form a circle around Draco and Ginny. The silver-gray cords hovered in midair, flowing to a breeze that was not there. In experiment, Draco released Ginny's hand, and the circle dissolved, only to reappear around Draco alone. 

He raised a curious brow. Blaise looked shaken, as if the spell bit off a large chuck of her energy. Though she still managed to sneer in triumph. 

"Impressive," said Draco after a few tense moments. "But can it dance?" 

Blaise managed a weak chuckle. She was leaning against the door frame now for support, but kept her right arm level with the ground. "That's just the tip of the iceberg." She paused, to take a deep and shaky breath. "Tell me how it feels, Draco," she said softly, "I've been dying to know." 

Then suddenly the cords turned a deep crimson. The color pulsated all around Draco, but only within the boundaries of the cords. He and Ginny watched it curiously, both with a pang of dread. 

And without warning - 

"_AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!_" 

Unconceivable pain ripped through Draco's heart, spreading like lava throughout his body. Time only seemed to strengthen it. 

"How does it feel?" Blaise asked with sick pleasure. She stared at him hungrily, her arm shaking slightly from controlled power. Draco did not respond. It was impossible to even think of responding. He couldn't stand it anymore; his hand flew to his chest, and ripped his shirt apart. He clawed at his bare chest, oblivious to the blood staining his hands. He didn't care that it was his. He continued to claw, desperate to get through to rip out his burning heart. 

But then it was gone. Not a trace of pain was within him, as if it never happened at all. Draco opened his eyes and saw the color drain from the cords. It was back to it's dull silver-gray. 

Shell-shocked, Draco drew in air; his lungs rejoiced as oxygen filled it's barren walls. But the numbing was going away. In its place was a light sting - the after effects of his desperate attempts at his heart. Though the pain was like child's play now. A part of his brain ordered him to keep his cool. He had to look strong - unaffected. He remained still, taking deep and even breaths. 

"What are you doing to him?" he heard someone gasp. Ginny. He blinked, suddenly, and turned. Ginny was where she had last been, her cheeks bright red and her eyes welled up with tears. She was staring at Blaise with a horrified expression, and refused to meet his eyes. She was crying for him… _again_. 

The other woman in the room chuckled viciously. While she could barely hold herself up, Blaise looked a lot stronger than Draco felt. 

"It's brilliant isn't it?" She was grinning madly, all the while keeping her hand as steady as she could. A demented sort of pride shone in her eyes - a look that no longer resembled Blaise, or how he knew her. It was something bigger; something Darker. "Thanks to that potion, I have direct, unhindered access to your brain." Her eyes narrowed as she whispered, "You see, Draco… You no longer have control of your emotions, nor your physical sensations… _I do_." 

She threw her head back in sudden laughter - a pure, girlish sound. She might as well have been giggling about some pretty boy. "I can make you feel anything I choose. What you felt just now, if you had any doubt, was pain. How was it?" 

Draco remained silent. He couldn't answer, let alone get his vocal chord to work. And Blaise knew that. She took great pleasure in that knowledge. 

"Nothing to say?" she mused. "Interesting. The great Draco Malfoy: speechless. Perhaps another go at it, then?" The chords shimmered back to a deep red. 

"NO!" Ginny screeched, and threw herself over Draco, as if shielding him from a bullet. In the mini-second that it took her to do this, Draco tried to shove her away, but the pain was quickly returning. Ginny, who latched herself around his waist, squeezed him tightly; the spell coursed within her as well. Together, they screamed their pain to the world.   
  
  
  
_It was Christmas morning, and in one week, Draco would be exactly six years old and 5 months. Jubilated with the feeling the holiday tended to bring, Draco skipped down the grand staircase towards the towering Christmas tree. His father did not allow him to decorate it as he wanted, though his mother secretly added an ornament he made the other week. He beamed at the disaster that was supposedly a Santa, before turning to grin at his presents. _

Only to find there were none. 

Frowning, Draco walked all around the tree, secretly wishing it was hidden around the side. But there was nothing to be found but a few fallen tinsel, which the House Elves would surely pay for later. He turned when he heard footsteps coming behind him, and pouted up at his father. 

"Where did the presents go?" he asked. 

His father stared at him with emotion-less eyes. "Presents are a waste of money," he said sharply. "You've gotten what you needed on your birthday." 

Draco's bottom lip quivered. "But you're supposed _to have presents on Christmas!" _

His father ignored him. He brought his eyes around to stare at something on the tree, and, feeling like it was the end of the world already, Draco followed his gaze. He found himself staring back at his ornament. He swallowed. 

In one fluid motion, his father snatched the craft from a branch and held it tightly in his hand. He sent his son a piercing look. 

"I told you not to touch the tree," he said in an icy tone, and without even the slightest flinch, he crushed the ornament, sending the shattered pieces down to the ground in front of Draco. Draco stared at the remnants of his hard work, and fought his hardest not to cry in front of his father. He would save that for later, when his father had gone, and no one would be able to hear his desperate wails.   
  
  
  
Tears were staining his cheeks now. The shield-like magic of the circle kept him from falling back, so Draco was forced to remain in his sitting position. Ginny was sprawled across his lap, her breathing as heavy as his. In front of them was Blaise, eyes wide from glee. He saw her raise her arm higher, her eyes glinting in madness before the circle beamed its crimson beacon once again.   
  
  
  
_He was fourteen now, having just returned from his year away at school. His father had beckoned him to his study, and Draco knew that no force on Earth could save him from the fate his father would subject him to. He undoubtedly heard about Harry Potter's close escape. _

He entered the study to find his father pacing around the room. Lucius turned on him almost immediately. 

"Can you believe this?" he snapped, nostrils flaring. Draco noted his father was looking rather shaky. Voldemort must've been as angry as Lucius was, and took it out on his followers. Draco braced himself, knowing full well whom the followers take their anger out on. 

"That damned Potter," his father growled, and Draco knew better than to interrupt a rant. His father stormed towards him. "And you!" he growled, baring his sharp canines. "You and your acquintances were outsmarted by Potter and his following - again_!" He let out a strained shout, and continued pacing. Draco wisely stood his ground. _

"Can you imagine what went through my mind when I heard you, Crabbe, and Goyle were found on the Express floor, up to your knickers in hexes?!" 

Certainly not worry, Draco thought glumly. Lucius snapped his head to glare at him, as if he read Draco's mind. "You've disgraced your family; you've disgraced me." He inhaled deeply, shaking as he let the air out. "Go to your room." 

Draco swallowed. For any other kid, those four words would've meant their actual room, but for Draco, it meant the dungeons. He nodded once, then left the room to head down the stone staircase that led to the dungeons. When Draco finally got there, Lucius was already there waiting for him. (His father loved to make Draco walk long distances, and Apparate there himself just to show how inexperienced his son was.) He was standing in front of a large rectangular box, his so called 'coffin'. Draco approached his father with his head held high. He would not show his fear. 

Without a word, Lucius magicked the box lid off, revealing a nothing but emptiness. Draco discarded his outer clothing, leaving only a shirt and his pants, before climbing into the box, and assuming his usual position - face up, legs straight, and arms crossed. His father sent him a disgusted look before resealing the box. Once the darkness of the box had settled in, the true discipline began. 

One by one he felt the little creatures creep out of the shadows. They crawled over his body, sending shivers down his spine. Some had slime that provided an extra layer on Draco's skin as they slithered over him. Others had feelers that poked and probed him in places he couldn't even imagine he had. But those were not what he dreaded the most. 

After a few seconds, he felt their suckers on him - first on his legs, then over his chest and arms. The Draconii fed off of him for what felt like eternity. The box was steadily growing cold, and he felt his very life being sucked out of him. 

His father left him there for two days.   
  
  
  
Ginny was crying now. Draco wondered if she saw what he saw, though he didn't have to ask considering the way she held herself. She was still over his lap, her hands gripping her arms while tears fell from her scrunched-up eyes. His tears mixed with hers. 

Gingerly, he brought his head up to glare at Blaise, who looked bent on pleasure. There were so many things he wanted to call, throw at, and do to her that it was slightly overwhelming. But he couldn't voice any one of these, for before he knew it, the circle gained color again - though it was not the red he'd come to hate, but a light, almost relaxing hue of blue.   
  
  
  
_"Hold still," his mother cooed. She struggled to fix Draco's shirt as he couldn't keep still. His body was just aching to move around, and, being only three years old, it was hard to argue. _

"Sweetie," his mother giggled, gently tugging the collars of his shirt. "You're going to wear yourself out if you don't calm down. Now hold still while I finish buttoning up your new shirt." 

Draco grinned boyishly at the mention of his new gift. His birthday was just a day ago, and the shirt his mother was currently struggling to put on, was his favorite present. Naturally, it was from her. 

"There," said Narcissa, stepping back to admire her baby boy. He managed to remain still for a second or two, before hopping off the stool she placed him on and tearing off towards the picnic a House Elf had just set up. Narcissa marveled at the energy he had, and laughed when Draco got hold of his favorite sandwich. She sat on the blanket prepared for them, and watched as Draco tackled the ham and cheese. 

By the end of it, most of the cheese had found it's way to his cheeks. She giggled and reached out to touch his face gingerly, smiling in content. 

"You know," she said on random, "you look great in black."   
  
  
  
The blue hue shifted to a deep red.   
  
  
  
_It was Valentine's Day, second year. Draco hadn't gotten a Valentine's - not even from Pansy. Even Crabbe and Goyle received one (nevermind that it was from the other)! He stalked off towards his next class, only to find Potter pinned to the ground by one of those gruff Cupid things. It was holding something red. _

Draco's anger flared. Of course he'd get a Valentine! Nearly growling, Draco's eyes searched the gathering crowd for the culprit. Then he saw her; Eloise Midg-something or the other. She was shaking like a leaf, trying desperately to hide herself from Harry's view. Her face was burning a bright red; it wasn't hard to tell who sent the Valentine. 

Suddenly something (other than the Valentine) red caught his eye. The newest Weasley to come to Hogwarts - Ginger or Jenny or something. She stood amongst the crowd, trying to push her way to get to her class. An evil thought entered his mind. As the little Weasley made her way across them, he shouted, as loud as he could, "I don't think Potter liked your poem much!", and saw her face turn bright red, scandalized. 

He grinned to himself in twisted satisfaction. If I'm going down_, he thought,_ I'm taking everybody with me.   
  
  
  
Blue.   
  
  
  
_Her laughter filled the empty field. She was laying on the grass now too, just a few inches from where he was. They were gazing up at the stars together; he had just pointed out the constelation Draco, claiming that it was, in fact, named after him instead of the other way around. It was a nice turn of converstation, considering how serious it was earlier. _

"What's that one?" Ginny asked, raising her hand to be perpendicular to the ground. She pointed at a small clump, looking slightly like a worn sweater. 

Draco pursed his lips in deep concentration. "Nullus Informatio," he said after a while. 

Ginny giggled at his accent. "What does that mean?" 

"No idea," he answered with a slight smile. His smile grew as Ginny was sent into another round of giggles.   
  
  
  
Red.   
  
  
  
_There it was, just above the Professors' stands - the Snitch hovered slightly, just above the tip of Professor Sprout's hat. He didn't even bother to look to see if Potter had spotted it too; he was off in a second. He leaned forward on the broomstick, keeping his gray eyes trained on the flying Snitch. It was his last and final game - the end of his seventh year was coming steadily closer - and he wanted nothing more than to beat Potter, once and for all. _

His heart pumped with excitement as he grew closer. On instinct, he thrust his arm out, extending it as far as he could. Potter was no where to be seen. He couldn't believe it. He was going to win. His fingers wiggled for the Snitch, which was only just inches away. 

Then suddenly, it was gone. In its place, was a leather-bound hand. And in that hand, was his Snitch. He felt the pit of his stomach drop thirty feet as Potter flew from his spot behind the stands, his hand raised in the air in victory. 

He lost again…   
  
  
  
Pain. Happiness. Pain. Happiness. 

It got to the point where it was going too fast for Draco to keep track. When he thought he couldn't take it anymore, the circle flickered once, then faded back into its original silver-gray. Draco opened his eyes, not never realizing that he had closed them in the first place. Across his lap, Ginny stirred. His pant leg was damp from her tears. 

Draco looked around. The circle had faded fully, and was now completely gone. He looked, and saw Blaise bent over an armchair, gasping and panting for breath. Her wand lay on the floor, forgotten. It must've gotten too much for her. An odd sort of satisfaction hit Draco. _Good_. 

Draco felt his eyes droop again, his body aching for the rest he so greatly deserved. But before he could fall back into the bed and off to sleep, the door swung open, and in came Goyle, looking slightly jumpy. He raced towards Blaise, and placed a large hand on her shoulder. 

"It's ready."   
  
  
  


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Aren't you proud?! I managed to whip this up in ONE day! And a school day no doubt! I have to say, I'm mighty proud of myself, considering the horrible creative rut I've been in for the past few... uh, months. I mean, even if this chatper IS a bit of a filler, it still fits in nicely. XP Anyways, notes.  
- can't exactly say when the next chapter's coming out. ~_~; I didn't even know THIS chapter was coming out!  
- my domain, **bad-faith.net** is in dire need of a host! *dies* It houses all of my Harry Potter-related sites, including **Open to Interpretation**, my Draco shrine.  
- school's started. AP class is hell.  
- did you catch the Draconii/fear of bugs reference? ^_^  
- uh... hope you like? 

Oh, also! In the memory with Draco and Ginny looking at the stars, that's in the same scene a few chapters earlier on, before Ginny got kidnapped. =T And the stuff he said is actually Latin, and it actually _does_ mean "No idea". *shrugs* 

Also, if you haven't already guessed, the red color meant 'pain', and the blue meant 'happiness'. MAJOR credit to K.A. Applegate (author of _Animorphs_), where I got the idea for this spiffy little method of torture. You can find it in book #33, of Tobias's (eee! My fav. character) narration. The "If I'm going down" speech Draco thought in one of the memories is a quote from Friends (Chandler to be exact). 

What else, what else, what else? Oh, yes! If you're wondering why that one memory (with Narcissa) is 'happy', it's because, well, he loved his mother. AND, I made her be the one to start his whole black-attire fetish thinger. Har.   
  
  
  
Thank You's:  
**Joya**, **Faith M**, **Beth**, **Hippogriff11**, and **Hplova4eva**.  
*imitates Crush* You so totally _rock_! 


	18. The Stuff of Heroes

**_AN:_** Well, here it is. Finally, huh? **Chapter Eighteen: The Stuff of Heroes** If there was one thing Pansy had ever prided herself on, it was her gift of speech. Sure, she'd prattle on and on about the most senseless thing, but her natural knack for the dramatics would gain anyone's attention. And so she spoke, hand gestures and polytones galore, watching in sheer satisfaction as the eyes of her audience gradually grew in terror or shock. 

  


It was not her fault - they had asked after all. The both of them, with their never-ending naivety. "So who did you want?" they asked, ever the predictable ones. And she told them, flat out. Now was it her fault that she happened to spill every disgusting detail of The Plan - because, let's face it, they were both as good as dead anyway - when they had been the one to push so hard for it? 

  


Of course not. 

  


She could see, not without a little bit of glee, the Sidekick's face scrunch up at the vile picture she had just painted. Light brown freckles were soon tinted green and she knew it would wise to take a step back. It was with a bit of reluctant admiration and heavy malice that she saw the Boy Who Lived's face remain impassive, if not a bit on the angry side, and ever so silent. Oh, how she wished for nothing more than to make him scream. 

  


"You're daft," the redhead had spoken, shaking his head in refusal to meet the truth. "Voldemort's _dead_. He's worm food." 

  


And Pansy looked at him like _he_ was crazy. "How can you be so ignorant?" she asked him, and chuckled at his wounded expression. Deciding that talking to the Weasel wouldn't get them anywhere, she turned to Harry. 

  


"I'm sure Potter here knows what I'm talking about," she said, walking in front of him and forcing him to meet her eyes. "Don't you?" 

  


Now Ron had turned to Harry, eyes wide and disbelieving. "You knew?" Pansy grinned at the hurt in his voice. 

  


"Oh my," gasped Pansy, "what's this?" She looked between the two, the Dynamic Duo, and saw the tension between them ignite and flare. "You mean you haven't told him?" she asked Harry, feigning shock. The look the Boy Wonder was giving her was nothing short of friendly. 

  


"Why didn't you tell me?" Ron asked, the look of hurt and betrayal clear in his spotted face. 

  


"Ron," Harry began, frustrated that Ron would choose a moment like that to overreact. "It wasn't important." 

  


"Wasn't important?" Ron looked very close to shouting. "Harry, Voldemort's _back_, and you think don't think it's important?" Then, bringing his voice down to what he thought was a whisper, he said, "We're best friends." 

  


"I know that," Harry said, "but it's complicated." 

  


"Draco and Snape knew," Pansy said offhandedly. 

  


"_Malfoy and Snape knew_?" Ron echoed, looking incredulous. 

  


"It was when Snape sent me that letter; I didn't know what we were there for until it started - " - Pansy almost giggled at the increasing sound of frustration in Harry's tone - " - and Dumbledore didn't know much to begin with, anyway. I just didn't see the point in telling you." 

  


"The point," Ron began furiously, "is to avoid a fight like this." With that, he whipped his head around, blue eyes searching to look at anything except the man beside him. 

  


Harry frowned. He knew what it was like to be in an argument with Ron, so he knew full well that there was no point in trying to speak to him when he doesn't want to be spoken to. He and Hermione referred to it as The Wall, which is exactly what he built around himself to block out anyone he dubbed worthy of snubbing. Sighing, Harry turned away as well, and found himself looking up at Pansy's smirking face. 

  


"I hope you're satisfied," he told her grudgingly. 

  


Pansy's smirk turned sadistic. "Quite." 

  


Harry snarled vehemently. But instead of directing the anger towards Pansy, he turned suddenly and glared at the back of Ron's head. "What's it matter that I didn't tell you?" he nearly shouted. "You know I would've if I thought it was necessary!" 

  


Slowly, the redhead turned, his face uncharacteristically blank. "It was necessary," he said in a monotone. "I'm your best friend. But I guess that never really mattered much, huh?" 

  


"What are you _talking_ about?" asked Harry, confusion quickly replacing the anger. 

  


"You're always hiding things!" Ron shouted, feeling all the pent-up anger and frustration he'd been trying so hard to bottle up escape him in a sharp and burning flash. "You never let us in, let us help. Always had to be the hero. Never tell us what's wrong, or what's happening, like you're carrying some gigantic burden alone. But you're _not_. You were never alone, Harry - why didn't you see that? Couldn't you tell how much it hurt us? How much it hurt her?" 

  


Harry stared. _Her_. Ginny. He supposed he should've known better than to think Ron let it go. Suddenly, he'd found his anger again. "I thought I was doing you guys a favor," he said in an unnervingly low voice. "I shut you out for _you_; so you all can live in your Happily Ever Fuckin' Afters." 

  


"Yeah?" asked Ron. "Well, good job." And The Wall was back up. 

  


Completely ignored by the two, Pansy allowed herself to crack a grin. 

  


It was almost too easy. 

* * *

There was not such a word invented to describe the emotion Draco was currently feeling. It was like failing Potions, getting a Howler, discovering your favorite brand of hair conditioner went bankrupt, being told your owl died, and a week in The Coffin all rolled into one, seven times over. And that was _after_ losing to Harry at Quidditch for the bazillionth time. It was bad news after bad news, train wreck after train wreck, and apocalypse after tea. 

  


Was he really that awful of a person to deserve such apocalyptic karma? 

  


He was tired, his eyes felt like they could pop right out of their sockets, and there was a grown woman sprawled across his lap, who was gradually getting heavier by the second and was dangerously close to cutting off the circulation to his feet. 

  


Of course, Blaise was looking like it was Christmas after winning the lottery, which was nothing compared to the oafish yet hauntingly cryptic grin Goyle was sending him. Neither did anything to soothe Draco's mind. 

  


"It's ready," Blaise repeated, like Draco didn't already hear. She slowly brought herself up to her full height, the effects of the previous spell still taking it's toll, and did her best to smoothen out her dress. "This is it," she said, meeting Goyle's grin with one of her own. 

  


"What's it?" Draco wanted to ask, but his found refused to cooperate. So many questions, profanity, and hand gestures were racing through his mind, but all he could do was grunt and the occasional twitch. It was a wonder to him how he was still sitting up, really. 

  


"Get him ready," Blaise instructed, and gingerly made her way out of the room. At the soft click of the door closing, Goyle's grin grew twice in size and tripled in nasty. 

  


"Time to get ready for the Ball, your Highness," Goyle said in a singsong voice. 

  


He advanced towards Draco, moving his fingers about in what would've been a taunting way if he didn't look so idiotic. Without so much as a flex of a bicep, Goyle pulled Draco soft cushions of the bed, and held him like a hero would a damsel, only was it not in any way romantic or tender. 

  


Draco watched with a hint of amusement as Goyle pondered what to do with Ginny, who was still unconscious, when suddenly he felt Goyle shift him around so that he was carried under one arm, and Ginny was soon under the other. Looking mighty satisfied with himself, Goyle started towards the doorway, when he suddenly came upon his next obstacle. 

  


Who would open the door? 

  


Frowning, Goyle shifted his packages around so he could tap one foot. Draco could almost hear the wheels turning, slowly but steadily, turning in Goygle's head. And suddenly, the answer came to him, in the form of Rosa, who came to check on progress. 

  


"Hey, thanks," Goyle said, happy that the problem was solved. The look Rosa was giving him, however, was nowhere close to happiness. He shifted uncomfortably, when he suddenly remembered. 

  


"What do I do with the girl?" he asked, and nudged his big head towards Ginny, who was still knocked out beneath his arm. 

  


Rosa looked at Ginny and frowned. "Dispose of her, I guess," she said after a while. "I don't see any need for her anymore." 

  


And that was when Draco found his voice. Of course, that 'voice' came in the form of a loud, choking sound, but it caught their attention nonetheless. 

  


"Yes?" asked Rosa, not even bothering to conceal her amusement. She waited patiently as Draco struggled to get his vocal chords to function. 

  


"Y-You can't," he managed, finding the feeling of actually _speaking_ to be oddly new and uncomfortable. 

  


"And why is that?" Rosa asked, looking very interested to hear his answer, indeed. 

  


"B-Because," Draco gasped, and found himself in a coughing fit. But once it had subsided, he continued, determined to make his point known. "You can't - can't harm her. If you do, I won't - " - he inhaled deeply - " - I won't do The Ritual." 

  


Rosa's amusement immediately disappeared. She was looking at him like she would like nothing more than to squeeze his heart with her bare hands. "And what makes you think we need your permission for it?" she tested. 

  


Draco chuckled, or something close to it, anyway. "Just because I talk slow, doesn't mean I'm stupid. I pay attention to my dreams - I _know_ you need me to give my blood willingly, otherwise The Ritual's useless." 

  


He could vaguely make out Rosa's left eye twitch. "It seems we've underestimated you for a bit. Alright then, how 'bout we strike a deal? Her life for yours?" She stuck out her hand, and was greatly surprised to see how fast Draco's own had sprung for it. 

  


"Deal." 

  


Rosa withdrew her hand after Draco had let go, and regarded him slowly. "You were always a strange boy, Draco," she told him, looking like she was not quite sure what to make of him. "Nothing at all like your father," she continued. 

  


And he smiled - a beautiful, genuine smile that lit up every corner of his face. 

  


"Thanks," he told her, looking and sounding like he really meant it. "And you," he said, smiling still. "Well, you were always big ol' bitch." 

  


Rosa huffed, the blush rising from her chest to her cheeks. She nodded to Goyle, who'd tried to hide his laughter in a cough. "Take him." 

  


"But what do I do with the girl?" he asked again. Rosa's anger flared even more as Draco gave her a daring look. 

  


"Heal her, then set her free." And then she left, pointedly avoiding seeing the shock on Goyle's face, and the look of triumph on Draco's. 

* * *

She woke up to the sound of hooves beating, and one of the biggest headaches she'd ever come across. Her initial reaction was to sit up, and she groaned as the contents within her head seemed to rattle and roll. She moaned, hands flying up to clutch at her head, mentally willing the pain to go away. 

  


Then suddenly there came a loud snort, and her eyes snapped open in surprise. That was when she realized she was in a carriage, an old, abandoned Hogwarts carriage from what Ginny could make out. At the farthest corner, just above the backside of the seat, she could just make out the crooked carving, "James and Oliver was here". Then underneath that was what looked like a face sticking its tongue out. 

  


Brows knitted in confusion, she continued to look around, and spotted the source of the snort from the tiny window behind her. A large, auburn-colored horse was trotting along, indifferent to the lack of a driver. Frowning ever more, Ginny contemplated her disposition. The last thing she could remember was talking to Draco in that room… Whatever happened afterwards felt like a blur to her, and trying to remember it only made her headache worse. 

  


She began to pat her clothing, and frowned at the lack of her wand. She expected as much. 

  


She sighed into her hands. "What am I going to do?" she asked no one in particular. She sniffed in her helplessness. What she wouldn't give to be able to Apparate. 

  


Outside, the horse snorted, and Ginny found herself peeking out of her hands to look at it once again. It didn't seem to have a destination in mind, as it just continued to trot along down a dirt road. 

  


And suddenly the electricity sparked, and she got an idea. Jumping up in her seat so she could stick her head out of the window, she said, as loudly to the horse as she could, the name of her desired destination. Almost immediately, the horse changed its course, veering to the left. Satisfied, Ginny sat back down in her seat. 

  


Slowly, her hand trailed over her chest, taking the time to concentrate on the soft thump of her heart. But there was something there… Something different. A heart beat unlike her own, yet molded to blend so well with her own, that it took a lot of concentration to know the difference. A heart beat that had been under that same hand not so long ago, yet then it had been under a different chest. 

  


An odd sort of smile fled through her face. "Hang in there," she whispered. 

  


It was only a matter of time now. All she had to do, was wait. * * * "It's only a matter of time," said Goyle, looking very smug as he handed Draco a black shirt over the dressing screen. "Yep, only a matter of time. Then, before you know it, Master'll be back and kicking, and you…" He chuckled. "Well, let's just say I never really liked you." 

  


"You were always such a charmer, Goyle," came Draco's voice from behind the screen. "Had a way with words, you did." 

  


And within the next second, he stepped out from behind the screen, just as he was buttoning up the black polo-shirt. He left the cuffs unbuttoned, however, as he proceeded to stuff his hands inside his equally black trousers. Then he frowned. 

  


"Leather?" he questioned, looking down and appraising the material that was currently chafing his legs. 

  


"Dragon-hide," Goyle corrected, looking pleased with Draco's appearance. 

  


"Boss Man had a bit of a fetish for the reptiles, did he?" Draco snarked, smirking at his own joke. 

  


"Some countries have referred to him as the Snake Lord," said Goyle, swelling in pride. 

  


Draco shook his head. "Whatever you say, big guy, but I have to ask… Why the new clothes?" 

  


"We can't have the Dark Lord living in a broken-down body," Goyle answered, looking like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

  


Draco nodded slowly, and regarded Goyle like he was mad - and, for all he knew, they were _all_ mad. 

  


"Right," he shrugged. "Well, that explains the healing you guys did." He stuck his arm out in demonstration, and began to wave it around, like he was commanding some sort of grand orchestra. He sighed, withdrawing the hand back in his pocket. 

  


"Let's get on with it, then," he said, and Goyle started. 

  


"You're not scared?" 

  


Draco frowned. "Why should I be?" 

  


Goyle stared at him, dumbfounded. "Well, because the Dark Lord's coming back… You're not… Aren't you worried about your life, and-and the rest of the world?" 

  


Draco chuckled, reaching out to pat the man on the shoulder. 

  


"Goyle, Goyle, Goyle," he said, looking sympathetic. "Since when have you known me to ever care about the world?" Then he shrugged, indifferent. "And my life was shit anyways." 

  


"But what about the Weasley girl?" Goyle asked, confused. 

  


Draco only looked at him, his face straight. "What about her?" 

  


"You saved her, didn't you?" questioned Goyle, looking interested now. "Why her, and not the world?" 

  


Draco withdrew his hand from Goyle's shoulder, looking pensive for a moment. Then he shrugged, looking decided. 

  


"The world never told me it loved me." * * * Pansy studied the situation. On one hand, The Ritual was waiting, and on the other, so was the amusing silent fight between Hero and Sidekick, that many, _many_ Slytherins of her time would've paid good money to be responsible for, let alone witness. They were currently sitting back-to-back, neither one of them ready to meet the other in the eyes. 

  


In the end, she sighed. "Well, boys," she said, looking reluctant, "I'm afraid my presence is required elsewhere." She smiled at them, as they both gave her cold, withering looks. "It's been fun." 

  


With two kisses blown, she turned at her heel and left without another word. Silence slowly began to seep through every corner of the room, and the tension grew heavier with every passing moment. 

  


"We can't go out like this man," said Harry suddenly. He peeked out through the corner of his eye, and saw Ron move his head slightly, probably doing the same. He stayed silent, however. 

  


"Ron?" Still, no reply. 

  


Harry sighed. "Fine, don't talk. I will." Another sigh. "I didn't mean to hurt any of you. I thought it was for the best; leaving you all out of it. Because, then, you guys might actually be able to live normal lifes." He paused, then said, in a beat. "Well, normal enough." 

  


His brows slanted down, and the frown on his face looked almost permanent. "I knew about the proposal," he said, in a softer voice, his eyes clouded over with mists of the memory. "I knew you were planning to, anyway. It didn't hurt much that you didn't tell me. Not really… I guess I figured you wanted to keep it under wraps for a while." He chuckled suddenly. "Everybody knows how Hermione can see through my lies." 

  


He peeked, and saw Ron smile slightly. "But then a month had passed, and you still hadn't proposed. It boggled me for days, I'll tell you that. And then it came to me - I was so stupid for not seeing it sooner. We were fighting a war, or trying to, anyway. The Order had us doing investigations non-stop, back-to-back. I mean, how could you savor a wedding around all that, right? So I told them to give me the big assignments. Maybe earn you guys enough quiet time for you to pop the question… But you never did." 

  


He turned to Ron. "Why didn't you?" 

  


Ron bent his head down, slightly embarrassed. "I was distracted." He turned to face Harry, smiling shyly. "I, uh, was too mad at you for holding out on us to get my mind around to it." 

  


Harry smiled sadly at the irony. Ron sighed, running a hand through his red mane, now covered in dirt and dust. "Listen, Harry… The reason I didn't tell you," he laughed suddenly. "Well, I thought you had a bit too much on your mind to think about stuff like that." He, too, smiled at the irony. "Man, were we stupid." 

  


And Harry laughed, suddenly and openly, so much so that Ron began to laugh as well. The laughter did not fade until they were out of breath, andboth their faces were flushed. Smiling still, they looked at each other. Harry held back his hand, and within the next moment, so did Ron. Simultaneously, they clapped their hands together, and in that weird, silent, brotherly way men do to show their affections, they made up, and their argument was over. 

  


It was Harry to break the gesture up, standing up to dust himself off. It was weird; the argument had charged him, giving him this electrical-like energy to overcome the fatigue and frailness he had felt earlier, and yet he was only motivated to actually do something now that it was over. After a while, Ron stood and did the same. 

  


"What exactly are we doing?" Ron asked, looking slightly amused. 

  


Harry looked at him like he was crazy. "Being heroes." 

  


He smiled, giving Ron a playful slap in the shoulder. 

  


"What else?" ---------- Well that was fun. The plot's rolling along rather nicely. With the way things are going, I'm figuring only a few chapters will be left. But then again, who am I to predict something like that? *tickles her muse* "Just because I talk slow, doesn't mean I'm stupid" is from Sweet Home Alabama, a great movie I highly recommend! ^_^ *hugs **Joya**, **trillium**, **RubberDuckii**, and **Maureen*** 


	19. Of Life, Death, & Everything in Between

**Chapter Nineteen: Of Life, Death, and Everything in Between**

The room he was led to was spacious and empty, save for the individual candles that lined the walls, creating a ring of fire to the unfocused eye. And yet, cold air seeped through his black layers, raising goose bumps along his fair skin. He was among the first to walk in; Blaise had led the way, with Rosa and Goyle buffering his sides. Upon reaching the middle of the room, figures in long black cloaks silently began to fill the room. They formed a large circle around Draco, almost blocking out what little light the candles offered. With the small ring of orange fire-light flickering behind each figure, it looked as if they were demons from Hell.

And perhaps, mused Draco, they were.

Then he noticed the marks on the floor. In black ink, four circles were drawn on the marble ground, with thick lines connecting one to the other, forming a crude diamond. He alone stood in the middle, with Goyle, Blaise, and Rosa each taking a circle. Rosa had taken the spot directly in his line of vision, a sick, twisted sort of smirk lining her face. Slowly, her features began to shift, and in less than two seconds, Rosa was gone, and in her place was his father. Somehow, the smile she had on looked ten times more deadly on his superior.

Draco fought hard to keep his face impassive, but it was hard, considering how badly he wanted to throw a punch at both Rosa _and_ his father.

For Rosa's part, being Lucius Malfoy didn't seem to be as much fun as she thought it was, so another second later, she began to shrink, down to the height of Draco's mid-section. Her long Lucius-hair had shortened, and she her cheeks had become a rosy pink tint. Slowly, she brought her little head up.

Draco stared at his younger self, who was staring back at him with big gray eyes. It was unnerving, try as he might to hide it from his appearance, but there was just something about seeing your younger self, with those big puppy eyes and curious innocence. It struck a cord somewhere inside him, at how innocent he had once been. And how quickly it had gone away.

Then suddenly, little Draco began to grow until he reached the bottom of Draco's chin. The pale skin and white-blond hair had made way for a peachy complexion and fiery locks. Gray eyes turned to hazel, and pale cheeks became scattered freckles.

Something inside him churned. It was uncanny, how perfectly Rosa had gotten Ginny. From the tiny dimple just above the curve of her lip to the way her hair seemed to glow gold with the candlelight. He only realized then, just how greatly he missed her. He wondered where she was now, if she was safe like Rosa promised she'd be. Millions of questions zipped through his mind. Was she thinking of him? Did she miss him too?

Rosa crossed the distance between them, and met his lips in a sigh. He stiffened in response, affected by how it all seemed to feel so right, yet so wrong at the same time. She felt so much like Ginny, and Draco hated himself for thinking so. Her lips were just as soft as he imagined, as were her fingertips, which had slowly began to wrap themselves around his neck. But it was not Ginny. _She_ smelled of fresh petals and a hint of cinnamon. This Ginny, however, smelled of expensive and over-dosed perfume.

With a great deal of sadness, he pursed his lips together, tightly shutting his eyes. Rosa pulled back from the kiss, her mouth hanging slightly open with a look of great surprise. Slowly, she brought a forefinger to touch a spot on her cheek, where a single tear had fallen. She stared at it, then at Draco, who only stared back at her. His face was the epitome of calm, but it was his eyes that betrayed him. They were gray and pained, misty and fogged.

Perturbed, Rosa changed back to herself, regarding Draco in silence.

To his right, Blaise cleared her throat. She seemed to be annoyed for being ignored for so long. "I do hope," she said, "that you understand why we asked you to do this, Draco."

Draco brought his eyes down to stare at his shoes. "I don't remember any of you asking," he said quietly.

"Don't be stupid," she snapped harshly. "You knew it would come to this eventually. You _knew_ the Dark Lord wouldn't stay down for long."

Draco stared at her for a bit, contemplating her words. "I suppose you're right," said he finally. "I suppose on some level, I knew he was too stubborn to know when it was over. Could never take the hint, Big V. I guess that's what'll take him down, eventually, and for good — his stubbornness." A grim smile flitted across his face as he said, "Just like my father."

Blaise could only stare. Draco held her gaze, gray to deep brown, both as intense as the other. Blaise took this chance to gaze deep into his eyes, as if she could find the answers to all her questions somewhere within those steely orbs.

Draco was always such a strange child, she knew. Ever since they were children, and her father and his would allow them to play together, in hopes they'd one day wed and keep the bloodline going. In her summers spent with him, he would always be so _unlike_ what he should have been, and she supposed it had always bothered him. He was such an emotional child, she had observed. Always running around, making such a racket that his father would almost always scold him by the end of the day. A part of her wondered if he was that loud in purpose, because it seemed to her that his father never really noticed him unless he was doing something grand. Or something extremely wrong.

She remembered the nights after every Quidditch defeat, and how he would spend them barricaded inside his room, locking out his roommates so they wouldn't see him do what Blaise always knew he was doing — sulking. He was no weakling; no, Draco Malfoy was far from that. Oh, but he had his flaws. He was a great coward (yes, even Blaise would admit so). He always preferred to wound with his words, rather than his fists. Ironically, it was his gift of a silver tongue that had gotten him in many exchanges of blows.

But he held strong. Throughout his life, he had endured more than what people had only heard of, and Blaise could hardly blame him for the git he had turned out to be. If she were to get honest, she would marvel at how noble, how _Gryffindoric_ he was being with this whole ordeal. She had heard about his sacrifice for the Weasley girl, and it hurt that he would show that kind of affection for someone who hadn't even bothered to try and understand him when she had the chance. Whereas she, who had tried and tried so badly to try and get him to open up to her for so many years, was left in the dust.

Love was a funny and fickle thing, she knew. She had loved him once, but he hadn't her. She figured his past had haunted him too badly for him to actually open up to the concept of love. Perhaps, she mused as she could no longer hold his gaze, he'd be a bigger man this time and stop running away.

Yet it angered her. It was downright _insulting_ that someone so ignorant of Draco's life could have such a place in his heart. She had been there during Draco's defeats. She had seen him wobble into the Slytherin common room, supported by Crabbe and Goyle, bruised and severely battered from having crossed paths with Mad Eye.

And yet he chose Ginny…

Blaise had been through many hardships in her life, but none so damaging as a broken heart to realize that life, as cliché as it sounded, was not the least bit fair.

* * *

The office held only one occupant now; Snape had long since taken Granger down to the Infirmary for treatment. Her last vision had left her in a stupor, convulsing from the pain of what she saw. And though he had not seen what she had, his heart ached for them all.

Albus Dumbledore had made many decisions in his life, some bad, some good. Though none did he regret so much as his recent ones. Perhaps he _was_ getting too old for the job…

A loud, derisive snort reached his ears, causing him to smile softly. "Hello Phineas," he greeted somberly. He turned so that he was facing the framed portrait, and sure enough, there was the old Slytherin Headmaster, a defiant frown etched deeply in his face. "Is there something you need?"

"You're a piece of work, you are," the painting said in reply. "I've always known it, and now you've only proved it."

Dumbledore sighed, yet his smile did not waver. "Why, whatever do you mean?" he played along.

This only seemed to rattle Phineas more, and he bristled. "I never trusted your ways," he said seriously. "I never understood why you did the things you did. But I had respect, try as I did to deny it. I respected your devotion to this school. But looking at you now…" He shook his head. "The man before me does not deserve my respect."

A long silence passed between the two as they stared at one another, one disappointed, the other somber.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Dumbledore said finally. He turned away from the portrait, shoulders sagging in self pity.

Phineas scoffed. "Now you're feeling sorry for yourself. Pathetic."

Almost angrily, Dumbledore whirled around and asked, "What would you like me to do? Waltz on over to the Riddle House, _completely_ unprepared, wave my wand around and cast spells like some maniac?"

The portrait smiled then, looking dangerously Slytherin-like. "Yes."

The Headmaster blinked, bewildered.

Suddenly, an old woman in silver sidled into Phineas's portrait, covering her mouth as she whispered something into the older Headmaster's ear. He turned to Dumbledore then, and in an oddly casual voice, said, "There's a Ginny Weasley here to see you."

* * *

It was late October, way into the Quidditch season, yet the Infirmary only held one occupant. The atmosphere was grim, and the tension was thick. Snape watched from afar as Madam Pomfrey tended to her only patient, tutting and quietly muttering to herself. She was bitter and tired, and Snape understood. He had not explained the reason for Granger's condition, under Dumbledore's orders (not that he would have without). She'd passed out after her last vision, though her face contorted in pain every once and a while. She was a strong girl, Snape knew. She'd made it clear in all of her years attending the school. She would not die.

He _hoped_ she wouldn't.

His eyes grew dark and pained as Granger convulsed again, her eyes shut tight. She made no noise, save for the clatter of silver as she knocked over a nearby tray.

Snape hated to feel hopeless, yet there he was, brooding in it. Pomfrey quickly threw her hands over the young woman, pinning her arms down as her legs kicked out. Then suddenly it was all over; Granger had stilled, her limbs going limp. Feeling sick, Snape quickly made his way towards the exit, pausing only after hearing Madam Pomfrey gasp.

Granger had opened her eyes. She gasped aloud, bolting up in her bed. "Malfoy!" she nearly shouted, panicked.

Snape rushed to her bedside, completely ignoring Pomfrey's disbelieving squabble. "What about Malfoy?" he asked, urging her on. "What did you see?"

Granger turned to him, her eyes wide and teary. "Nothing," she said, voice trembling. "I didn't see anything."

* * *

_Calculate, scheme, plan._ Draco weighed his options. The room was large enough, but too heavily guarded for a clean escape. They'd stripped him of his wand so any plan dealing with spells were out of the question. His eyes darted around the room, looking for every exit possible.

There was only one — the double doors they had led him through. And that was a good twenty, thirty feet away — a snap for someone with his build and skill.

Yet he was surrounded. Rosa to his front, Blaise and Goyle to his left and right. Behind him was a wall of Death Eaters.

He turned to his right, where Blaise was eyeing him silently. She seemed to know what he was thinking, for she slowly shook her head. Soundlessly, Draco sighed. She was right, he knew.

_This was it_.

Turning so that he now saw Goyle, a small smile flitted across his features.

He might as well go out with a bang.

* * *

_Think Mission: Impossible_, Harry thought to himself, as he and Ron crept through the barren hallways of the Riddle House. Almost immediately after the thought had processed, the theme song sprang into his mind, which inadvertently caused him to lose his footing and stumble into Ron's back.

Ron turned to him, brows raised. "What?" he whispered, and Harry mouthed a mute "Sorry". Ron frowned at this, and stood up from his crouched positions to frown even deeper at Harry. "I don't understand what we're doing," he whispered again, as Harry began to stand upright.

"I'm not exactly sure," Harry admitted, a hand going to rub the back of his neck. "I didn't really expect the Riddle House to be this big. I kind of figured we'd stumble into them or something." Upon seeing Ron's exasperated look, he threw up his arms in defense and said, "Hey, it always worked before."

Ron rolled his eyes. "I can't believe this!" he whispered harshly. "This is crazy. We might as well walk up to Pansy and have her hack us off."

Harry lowered his arms, a sardonic tone in his reply. "The whole point _is_ finding Pansy."

"Well, what do we do now, hero?" chided Ron, long arms coming up to his waist. His position reminded Harry highly of Molly in one of her tantrums, and the thought alone brought a grin to his face. Now Ron just looked angry. "What?"

"Nothing," Harry said, all too quickly. He began to look around, seeing nothing but hallway and doors. "Maybe we should split up or — " Harry stopped, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck rising. Beside him, Ron opened his mouth to question him, but was stopped by Harry's shushing hand. His breathing deepened, as he fought to keep his heart from thumping out of his chest. He could feel the air around him get tense, and his grip on his wand tightened. He could feel someone creeping up behind him, the old wooden floor not giving away anything. Years and years of battling for his life had sharpened his senses, and in just a few seconds, it could be over.

Then, in one quick motion, he spun around, wand aimed and ready at his pursuer. "_Stupe_ — " However, the spell quickly died in his mouth upon seeing just _who_ his pursuer really was. Harry stared, with his eyes wide open and jaw slacking, as his hand fell limp at his side, his wand forgotten on the floor.

* * *

"For a plan so important," drawled Draco, "it sure takes a long while to begin."

Goyle let out a small scoff. "You're surprisingly impatient for someone who's about to die." He, as well as the two women, had not moved from their positions since they'd gotten there.

Draco found himself grinning at his old friend's words. "I've always liked you Goyle," said he. "Crabbe may have been the bigger man, but he was unbelievably slow on the uptake." He paused, looking thoughtful. "Well, more so than you."

Goyle's grin faded almost immediately. He shifted indignantly, his mouth a tight frown on his face. Crabbe had been one of the many casualties lost in the War, and he had not completely gotten over it just yet.

"What's the matter?" chided Draco in mock concern. "Death not a good topic for you?"

"Not his."

The smile that appeared on Draco's face would have scared the hoods off of any Dementor. "I can understand why," he said, his voice a dangerous drawl. "It was horrible. And painfully slow. I couldn't begin to describe the look on his face once it had finally registered in his mind. I doubt he'd even heard the words, just saw his attacker's mouth move and form that curse. A pity, really… Such stupidity and brawn wasted."

Goyle, having heard enough, launched himself on Draco, knocking both of them down on the floor before Rosa's feet. "Take it back!" Goyle growled, large hands gripping the other man's neck firmly. Draco gagged and coughed against Goyle's hold, legs flailing about as the other man straddled him.

"Goyle! Get a hold of yourself!" screamed Blaise. She and Rosa had not moved from their spot, even with the two men practically on their feet.

"Take it back!" Goyle shouted again, shaking Draco like he was a rag doll.

"Goyle — honestly!" sighed Rosa, and gave the man a rough kick on the shoulder. He stumbled off of Draco, eyes squinted in fury as he staggered back to his position. Draco remained on the ground, holding his neck and coughing.

"He was more of a man than you will ever be," said Goyle, fists clenched on either side of him.

"Goyle — _stop_." Now Blaise had joined Rosa in the scolding. "He's just trying to provoke you."

Goyle let out a low growl. "You'll get yours," he muttered darkly.

Smiling softly, Draco did not bother to argue. _He doesn't even notice it's gone…_

_

* * *

_

__

"I don't believe it."

Harry's eyes must have been playing him. There was absolutely no way that what he was seeing was actually there. Though he could not help the rush of excitement upon seeing this so-called mirage, or the smile that appeared on his lips. But it must have been real, for Ron, whose mouth hung in shock beside him, was seeing it too. But there just was _no way_ he was seeing Albus Dumbledore standing right in front of him, flanked by Sirius, Lupin, Snape, Hermione, and…

"Ginny!" cried Ron, who quickly made his way towards his sister, eventually enveloping her in a big bear hug.

Ginny smiled and patted his back awkwardly — he was apparently hugging her a bit _too_ much. "I'm happy to see you too, Ron."

"I don't understand," he said as he held her back at arm's length. "You were here — you were kidnapped."

"I was," Ginny answered, a sad smile on her lips. "But Draco sacrificed himself so that Rosa would let me go."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" said Ron suddenly, holding up a hand to stop her. "Who's Rosa? And since when was it 'Draco'?"

"They've been through a lot together, Ron," said Hermione, wobbling up towards him. Ron stared, distracted, getting his first real look at her. She had bandages around her head, and a slight limp when she walked.

"'Mione," he said, eyes widening at her condition. "What happened to you?"

"It's not important," she dismissed with a frail wave of her hand.

Ron merely nodded, still stunned from all the new information. "Alright," he said, and quickly hugged her too.

"What in the world are you guys doing here?" Harry asked, almost laughing in disbelief.

"We came here to rescue you," said Sirius, grinning madly. "But it appears you don't need the help."

"How?" Harry asked, stunned.

It was Dumbledore who answered, looking a bit embarrassed. "Well, we used the front door, actually. I suppose everyone is already in the room."

"What room?" asked Ron and Harry both, Ron still holding Hermione.

"The Drawing Room, I think," replied Dumbledore. "But I wouldn't know for sure."

"They're doing some sort of ritual in there," said Ginny, wringing her hands in worry. "If we don't hurry soon…"

"She's right," spoke up Lupin, who quickly stepped towards Harry and Ron. "Do you two need any healing done before we go?"

They shook their heads. "No," said Harry.

There came a grunt from Snape suddenly, who was clutching his left hand in pain. "We'd better get a move on," he said. "It's close."

"What exactly are we going to do?" asked Ron, finally releasing Hermione.

Dumbledore sighed. "I haven't a clue." Then he took out his wand. "Shall we?"

* * *

"_Finally_," sighed Blaise.

Draco watched as the doors opened, and a hooded Pansy Parkinson (hood or no hood, he'd know that girl anywhere) walked in, a beaded purse hung around one shoulder. She held a smoking goblet in one hand, a simple silver dagger in the other.

"What took you?" Blaise snapped, hands on her hips.

Pansy ignored her, promptly stepping unto the last circle of the diagram, the goblet simmering in her hand.

"Hello Draco," she greeted. She put her hood down, observing him. "Feeling alright?"

"Dandy," was his reply.

Pansy smiled. "Shall we?" she asked, holding out the goblet for him to take.

"What's that for?" inquired Draco, suspicious.

"It's a potion," she answered simply. "It'll make the transfer between souls less painful."

"How nice of you," Draco drawled as he took the goblet in his hands. He sniffed it; it smelled of cabbages and milk. Wrinkling his nose in distaste, he hated to think what it'd smell like going down his throat. Sighing at his terrible luck, he said, "Well, here goes nothing." He held the goblet up in salute, then tipped the cup in his mouth, the thick liquid barely making him gag.

He finished the contents, smacking his lips at the awful taste. Suddenly he felt his body lighten, and soon enough his whole body began to give off an ethereal glow. There was a hard throbbing in the pit of his chest and temples, making his vision fuzzy. He felt oddly detached, like he was no longer inside his own body.

He turned to Pansy, eyes curious. She smiled in approval. "Don't worry," she told him. "It's not the end just yet. It's merely the preparation." She then held out her purse, from which she pulled out a familiar black, battered diary, a glass bowl, and a clear case of what looked to be fire. She set them on the floor neatly, the glass bowl directly in front of Draco.

"For the ritual to work," Pansy explained, "we'd be needing a bit of the Dark Lord's past — " she pointed to the diary " — his present — " she gestured toward the glass bowl " — and his future." She picked up the last item, allowing Draco to get a real good look at the case's content. It was a lock of hair. But not just any hair. What he thought was fire was merely strands of deep red, tinted with golden streaks. There was no doubt in his mind to whom it belonged to.

"You snake," he turned to Rosa, enraged. "You promised you wouldn't hurt her."

"I said _I_ wouldn't," the shape-shifter answered haughtily. "I never mentioned anything about the Dark Lord."

Pansy grinned as Draco glared viciously at Rosa. She held out the dagger. "We'll be needing your blood now," she said casually. "For his present."

Draco shot a dubious look at the glass bowl placed in front of him, then to the dagger Pansy steadily held. "Promise that nothing happens to Ginny," he demanded.

Pansy frowned. "I can't make that kind of guarantee," she told him.

But Draco was adamant. Thrusting out a glowing hand, he said again, "_Promise_."

"The Dark Lord does as he pleases," Pansy insisted. She was staring at his hand like it was poison.

"The deal was _my_ life for hers!" Draco shouted, his hand never faltering. "Now _promise_."

Pansy shot a disdainful look towards Rosa, who cowered beneath it. "I'll see what I can do," she said. "And that's the most I can give you."

Draco stared at her for a moment, before asserting his outstretched hand once again. "Shake on it."

Pansy sighed soundly before taking his hand. "Now do your part," she said, handing him the dagger once again. He took the dagger from her, a loud thump resounding in his ears. His vision split and doubled, and for a second he thought he had fallen down. The potion seemed to be having it's full effect on him now, and for the first time since he'd stricken that deal with Rosa, he was afraid. Staring at the dagger against the pale of his hand, he found himself wishing for those miracles that seemed to be reserved only for the heroes.

Inhaling deeply, he positioned the blade over his right wrist. He blinked a few times; his vision was getting worse by the moment and his left hand had taken on a horrible twitch. After willing his hand to still, he finally felt the cold blade make contact with his wrist. _Just one push, and it'll all be over._ Yet it seemed the closer the blade was to his skin, the worse his vision and overall control of his body became. He could feel Voldemort's soul somewhere deep inside him, growing stronger and waiting.

He glanced at the lock of hair. _For you._

He weighed his hand down, feeling the slight sting in his wrist as the blade cut through his skin. Catching the slightest hint of crimson in his blurry vision, his nerve left him, and the dagger fell to the ground with a clatter. He watched as the world around him swirled in slow motion, gravity weighing down on his body until he, too, was on the ground. His eyes rolled back into his head, and then the doors flew open.

* * *

Ginny followed the older persons as they mindlessly searched every room in the House. It was only when Hermione had managed to alter her "Point Me" charm did they make any progress.

She took a slightly slower pace as she felt her heart beat against her chest, and a sudden rush of dizziness overwhelmed her. They were close; she could feel it. She could feel him, too, and his own heart as it slowly faded.

It was Sirius who had kicked the doors open, and they all rushed in with their wands ready.

And then she saw him on the floor, a white glow around him and a small trail of crimson liquid along his wrist.

"_DRACO_!!!"

Many things happened at once; the Death Eaters that lined the wall scrambled towards them, some hesitant from shock. The four that surrounded Draco's body remained where they were, though they shouted orders and reached for their wands. "My wand!" Goyle yelled, patting his robes frantically. "Where's my wand?!"

Sirius, Lupin, Dumbledore, Harry, and Ron charged toward them, throwing hexes here and there. Hermione, in her injured state, lingered around the doors, though that did not stop her from throwing her own hexes.

Ginny, herself, had her mind set. Forgetting about her own safety, she shot towards Draco's unmoving body, knowing deep in her heart that he was still alive. Still running, she aimed her wand and yelled, "_Expelliarmus!_" sending Blaise, Rosa, and Goyle back a few feet unto their backs. Pansy, unharmed, pointed her own wand at Ginny, but before she could get her mouth open, a crimson spark hit her from the side, knocking her down. A few feet away, Ginny saw Ron give her a bit of a nod before turning back into the fray.

After silently thanking him, she dropped down to her knees and gripped Draco's hand. "Please," she said. "Wake up. I know you're in there somewhere." She stared at his face, which looked so much paler from the glow emitting around his body. "Wake _up_."

"Ginny!" Harry called suddenly. She looked up to see him trying to block hex after hex from the three Death Eaters that were advancing on him. They were losing, slowly but surely. There came a scream from somewhere near the doors, which was followed by a loud, "_No_!" from her brother.

"Draco, _please_," she cried, tears staining her cheeks. "Fight it!"

She gave his hand one final squeeze before jumping up to join the fight.

* * *

_He slit his wrist, watching as the colored liquid spread then spill to the floor, a crude heart-shape forming from the puddle it made in the bowl. His arm grew limp, and the blade fell to the ground, forgotten. In the back of his head and the base of his ears he heard a laughter, manic and booming. His body began to spasm, bending this way and that, though he felt nothing. His arms, once at his control, were flailing about as if out of their own recognition. He could feel a pain in the depths of his chest, like his insides were being wrenched away by hands so cold it felt like winter itself. The laughter grew stronger and more solid, as he felt the air in his lungs go cold._

_And just when it felt close to the end, a flame burst somewhere deep within his heart._

_The cold was leaving; the fire was back._

* * *

Draco awoke to the sound of hexes being thrown and bodies hitting the floor. He groaned; his head felt like it had been split with an axe, though it was nothing compared to the rest of his body. He struggled to a sitting position, taking a moment to get his mind to stop spinning. He looked at his wrist, and nearly gagged to see his blood still leaking out. No wonder his head was murdering him.

"Draco!!!" he heard Ginny scream suddenly, and he started. Suddenly he was brought back to reality, seeing the battle engaging before him. He got up, albeit wobbly, and started towards them to help when suddenly he stopped, realizing he didn't have his wand.

Then something in his mind clicked. Goyle's wand! He dug into his pockets, pulling out the wand with a triumphant look on his face. Granted, he got the air squeezed out of him for it, but all in all, it was worth it. He mentally thanked his father (ironic, yes) for all those harsh lessons in sleuth, before aiming at a pack of Death Eaters advancing towards Ginny.

"_Impedimenta!_" She sent him a thankful smile before attacking another Death Eater that was just about to sneak up on Lupin. Draco smiled to himself, proud over what he'd just done. But before he could do any more…

"Malfoy, look out!"

A sharp jolt hit his back, sending him to his knees, and before he knew it, all was black.

Again.

* * *

Draco groaned, waking up for the he-didn't-know-how-many-ith time that day, only to find himself in Hogwart's Infirmary, wearing that blasted polyester-cotton pajama again. If it hadn't been for the immense pain running through his body, he might've thought the whole ordeal had been just a dream.

"You're awake."

Draco jumped. He hadn't even seen Ginny where she sat in the seat beside his bed. Her right arm was covered in bandages, while a red-stained gauze ornamented her head. Her face was smudged with dirt and her hair looked a mess, but Draco had never seen her so beautiful. She got up from her seat, smiling tentatively as she took a step towards him.

"How do you feel?"

"Like hell," he said, lifting a hand to rub his temple only to realize that both his arms were covered in bandages. He groaned. "What happened?"

"You took quite a hex to the back and you passed out," Ginny explained.

Draco nodded, but said nothing. He frowned, looking down at himself. His head was throbbing with questions, yet he found no strength in voicing any of them.

Ginny sighed beside him. "Well I've got to go," she said, looking apologetic. "I promised Snape and Dumbledore I'd inform them once you were awake. But I'll be back," she added reassuringly.

Draco nodded, giving her a small smile. She smiled in return and left. And just as Draco thought he'd get some privacy, his least favorite person arrived.

"Hey," said Harry, standing at the foot of his bed.

"Geez, Potter," Draco said. "You look worse than I feel." And it was true. Aside from his head practically being covered in bandages (though you can bet there were quite a few strands of jet-black hair peeking through), there were scratches all over his cheeks and neck. His left arm was in a sling, while his right hand was bandaged and gauzed.

"Good to see you too," replied Harry.

Draco sighed. "So what have you come to stick to me today?" he asked.

Harry chuckled slightly. "Nothing, actually. Just thought you'd like to know what happened to your friends."

Draco's glare turned icy at Harry's words. "They weren't my friends."

Harry held up his hand in surrender. "Alright alright, no need to get worked up. In any case, they've all been sent to Azkaban, though the Ministry's insisting on trials."

"Will I have to testify?"

"No," said Harry. "Luckily for you, Dumbledore's making it a point to leave you out of it as much as possible. Figures you'd been through enough, I guess."

Draco let out a relieved sound. "Good." There was a pause. "So… What happened after I, uh…"

"Passed out like a pansy?" Harry smiled.

"After I was brutsally attacked," Draco bit out angrily.

"Not much, really," he shrugged. "We took care of the Death Eaters well enough — none of them were the originals, so their skills pretty much sucked."

Draco nodded. "That's good."

Harry gave him a half-smile. "You did good, y'know."

Draco looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean what you did for Ginny," Harry explained. "Sure, you pretty much sold out the entire world, but you still risked your own life to save her. You did good." He grinned suddenly. "Hurts, doesn't it?"

"You have no idea."

"In any case," said Harry. "Thanks. For what you did."

Draco made a face. "Don't be getting all sentimental on me, Potter. I still hate you and your little friends."

Harry laughed a little, nodding. "I know. Don't worry, we all hate you too — Ron, especially, actually, after hearing what you did for Ginny. Burns him up to feel in debt to a Malfoy, I gather."

"You tell him I want full payment too."

Before Harry could reply, Ginny had returned with Snape and Dumbledore in tow. "Ah, Mister Malfoy," said Dumbledore, holding out his hands. "How are you?"

"Alive," said Draco.

"Wonderful," smiled Dumbledore. He then turned to Harry and Ginny. "I wonder if you two might give us some privacy. I'll be sure not to take too much of Mr. Malfoy's rest time." Once the two had left, he turned back to Draco, smiling still. "This has been quite a trip for you, Mister Malfoy."

Draco grunted. "Quite."

"But it's not over yet," said Snape. Draco looked at him, worried. "There's still the matter of Voldemort's soul in you."

Draco groaned. "There's just no stopping it!" he shouted, sighing loudly.

"If I might suggest a solution," Dumbledore said, raising a long finger. Draco turned to him, interested. Slowly, Dumbledore drew out a long, battered wand.

"What are you going to do?" Draco asked warily.

"There's no need to worry," smiled Dumbledore. "This is merely a transfer."

Draco stared. "Where are you going to transfer Voldemort's soul?" At this, Snape looked away and Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. Draco's eyes widened at Dumbledore. "In _you_?"

"Consider it my last chance to, er, 'stick' it to Voldemort," Dumbledore said happily. "He'd just hate it, I imagine, to know his soul's residing within his least favorite teacher."

"No way," Draco said suddenly and with much conviction, so much so that both adults stared at him in surprise. "There's no doubt that those goons, or anybody else for that matter, will be back for Voldemort's soul, and where will that leave you?"

Dumbledore smiled at this, looking proudly at him. "Fear not for me Mister Malfoy," he said. "Believe me when I say that Voldemort's soul _will_ pass on."

Draco stared at the old Headmaster, who only continued to smile merrily. Finally, Snape spoke up, looking somewhat distressed. "Surely there's another way, Headmaster."

"Now, Severus, don't deny an old man his last request," pouted Dumbledore.

Draco nearly choked, the pieces clicking in his mind. "You're dying?" he asked in a hushed whisper.

Dumbledore smiled at him, looking amused. "For a while now," he answered sincerely.

"But," started Draco, almost refusing to believe it. He couldn't be… This was Dumbledore! Dumbledore doesn't die! "_Why_?"

"I imagine it was during the War," he said, looking thoughtful. "But I'm an old man," he grinned. "It was only a matter of time."

"But — you can't," said Draco, shaking his head. "You can't die."

"I very much can," said Dumbledore in a slightly stern voice. "I'm no immortal, Mister Malfoy. This is all just a part of life's cycle. Now, if you'll just allow me to take Voldemort with me, you'll make me a very happy man indeed."

Draco frowned and turned to Snape for help. But he had looked away again, a pained expression on his face. He turned back to Dumbledore, sighing. "Alright," he said, hating it.

"Marvelous," said Dumbledore giddily, and he proceeded to aim his wand at Draco's heart. "Now this won't hurt a bit." He closed his eyes, muttering words that Draco could not decipher under his breath. Draco watched as his body began to glow that same eerie glow he had after drinking Pansy's potion. He felt Dumbledore poke him slightly, his muttering becoming more urgent. Draco watched in awe as the glow began to move towards Dumbledore's wand and travel up before it final came to rest within Dumbledore himself. He opened his bright blue eyes in a snap, then smiled. "All done," he said.

Draco only nodded. He was feeling slightly empty for some reason.

"Well then," said Dumbledore, looking as if nothing had happened, "if you'll both excuse me, I hear there're some delicious dumplings being served down in the Hall." With that, he left.

Snape finally looked at Draco, looking as solemn as Draco felt. "Y'know, I never really liked him when I was in school," Draco admitted tearfully.

Snape nodded knowingly. "He's a great man." Draco only nodded, sniffing slightly. Snape moved to Draco's side, sighing. "You're a lot more trouble than you're worth, Mister Malfoy."

Draco laughed suddenly, choking on the tears he nearly spilled. "You always tell me that," he said.

"Because it's true," replied Snape, giving Draco one of the few smiles he had. A moment between the teacher and pupil passed before Snape spoke up again. "I should call your mother," he said, making Draco start.

"My mother?" he said. "But she's in St. Mungo's."

"Not anymore," Snape told him. "She'd made a miraculous recovery and was admitted out a few days ago. She's been here to visit you, actually."

Draco made a face. "For how long was I out?"

Snape smirked at him. "Two weeks."

"Draco? Oh, Hello Professor." Ginny stopped short of Draco's bed, her face slightly pink. "Professor Dumbledore told me it was alright to come back in."

"Yes, well, I was just on my way," said Snape, looking slightly ruffled by the presence of a Gryffindor. He brushed past Ginny, not once looking at her, and pushed past the doors. And that left Draco and Ginny alone, smiling awkwardly at each other. Ginny shuffled on her feet a bit before taking a few steps closer.

"How are you?" she asked.

"A bit overwhelmed," Draco admitted with a frown.

"A lot's happened to you," Ginny reasoned.

"To you too," Draco said softly, looking at her. "I'm sorry for everything."

Ginny's eyes went wide, her cheeks flushing a red tint. "Oh don't be!" she squeaked. "You saved my life! If it wasn't for you — "

"Your life wouldn't have been in danger in the first place," he interrupted. He shook his head. "They kidnapped you because of _me_ — "

"But it wasn't your fault," she insisted. "I don't blame you Draco, so why should you blame yourself?"

Draco sighed. He wanted to argue with her but he honestly didn't think there was much use in it.

"Thank you, by the way," Ginny spoke up suddenly. She was looking at her feet. "For the whole 'saving me' thing." In a bold move, she sat on the edge of his bed, surprising Draco. "It meant a lot to me."

"Er, you're welcome." He wondered if he should make a grab for her hand, which she had placed dangerously close to his own. He frowned, suddenly remembering something. "When I was out," he said, "I… heard you. You were telling me to fight it." He looked into her eyes. "How did you know I wasn't gone?"

Ginny blushed furiously, and she turned away. Draco panicked, wondering if he had said something wrong, when she spoke. "Well, I'm not really sure why — well, I have a hunch, but I can't tell for sure, and even then it doesn't make any sense at all, but I'm pretty sure — "

"Ginny, _please_," Draco said, looking pained.

"Oh," blinked Ginny. "Right. Well, I guess the only way I can say it is that I _felt_ you weren't gone." Draco gave her a blank look, and she bit her lip. "I don't really know why but, I'm thinking when I jumped into that… circle thing, the spell that Blaise had cast, it… Well, it kind of made me able to know what you feel."

"You mean you know what I'm feeling? At any time?"

"Kind of, yes." Ginny gave him a weak smile. "Surprise."

Draco just stared at her. "Do you know what I'm feeling right now?"

Ginny concentrated on him, her eyes squinted. "Confused. Overwhelmed. Shocked. A bit angry. Kind of hungry, too."

Draco pulled a face. "Wonderful. Even _I_ didn't know that!"

"I'm so sorry," said Ginny sincerely. "Believe me, I know what it's like to have your privacy trespassed — I live with six brothers, afterall. I never meant to do this." Her eyes went wide. "Are you mad at me?"

Draco gave her a surprised look. "No! Why would you — Oh…" He blushed, his pale pinks turning slightly pink. "No I'm not mad at you."

"Then who — "

"I don't know," snapped Draco. "I don't… I just have a lot on my mind, alright?"

Ginny nodded, and made to get off his bed when his hand stilled her. She looked at him, surprised, only to see that he had turned his head away, a deep frown on his face, but his hand was gripping her's tightly. She smiled knowingly, and sat back down.

"Don't worry," she said softly. She covered his hand with her own, squeezing lightly. "I won't leave you." They sat there in silence, the heat from their hands radiating off the other, as Draco struggled to find his voice. Memories of the past 'adventure' whizzed by his eyes, some he still had a hard time believing actually happened. One in particular that seemed rooted to the back of his mind.

_I love you…_

Draco shut his eyes tightly, his mind burning as the memory overwhelmed him. "You know you never answered me," he said finally, causing Ginny to jump slightly.

"Pardon?"

"That night in the bedroom," he began, his eyes still closed. "When I asked you why you…"

"Loved you?" Ginny finished. Draco only nodded. "I don't know, honestly," Ginny admitted. "But I know I do."

"But why?" he asked, eyes snapping open to glare at her accusingly. "Why _me_?"

"I don't know that one either," Ginny answered. "You can't choose who you fall in love with, Draco. Life doesn't work that way."

"Do you regret it then?" he asked icily, turning away.

"No," she said lightly. She looked down at their joined hands. He followed her gaze. "It's true, what you said before. Love isn't always beautiful. But if you let me, I can show you that it sometimes is." She was looking into his eyes now, which she had drawn away from their hands. "You may not want to hear it, but I know you have love in your heart somewhere. I don't know for who or what, but you do." She held his hand up to lay against her chest, letting him feel her heart beating. "Please," she said, though it sounded far from begging. "Let me love you."

Draco didn't say anything to that, but he didn't need to. Ginny already knew.

She smiled. "I love you too."

* * *

**Fin.**

* * *

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A little note:

Well I can't believe it's finally over. An apology might be in order, actually, for the unbelievable amount of time I spent on this fic. oo Terribly sorry. I started this fic over a year ago (maybe even more so) and my writer's block had come to visit me many, _many_ times during that time. But thank you to my readers who've not lost faith in me. ; I really hope this fic was worth it.

Throughout this fic, my skills as a writer grew. You can see clearly, with the first chapter, to the very last, how my writing has changed. (For the better, I hope). I'd grown a lot writing this fic, and I know my mistakes. I wrote this after creating my own version of Draco, which, for some, may work. But for me, it only clouded the beauty of his true character, which I highly regret. But I know better now, and it'll show, hopefully, in my future fics.

Will there be a sequel? Well, it's likely. The idea for a sequel had been in my head for a very long time now — as early as chapter 10 — but I can't guarentee it'll be written. We all know how lousy I am at updating. ;

To clear some things up, I had originally intened chapter nineteen to be the 'action' chapter, with a chapter twenty as the aftermath. But somewhere down the line, I decided to just join the two together. So if some of you are a little confused as to the pace of the last scene, yes, Dumbledore is dying. Yes, Narcissa made a full recovery (she was only mad because she thought she lost her family, remember? She didn't know who Draco was because she could only sense Voldemort's soul in him). And yes, Draco _does_ love Ginny.

Some people I'd like to thank, for they've helped me throughout the writing of this fic…

**Joya**: For almost always being the first to review, and generally always believing in me. Thank you so much; you made me feel like it was worth it.

**Erika**: For your great insight in everything HP. You helped me see the wonders and depth in Draco, and gave me hope when I was starting to lose some in redeption!Draco.

**Eiko**: For being as quirky as you are (it's _Fatum_! XD), and having so much faith in Ron that inadvertently helped me have as much in Draco.

**And finally, my reviewers**: Without you guys, this fic would be nothing! You're all the reason I write! Thank you!

With Love,

Jonah


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